


The Devil's Bargain

by TheLadyFrost



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Angst and Feels, F/M, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Shameless Smut, Valenfield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 315,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFrost/pseuds/TheLadyFrost
Summary: This seed of weirdness entered my head when I was writing my other fics. It's Chris and Jill, the dynamic of their friendship, and creepy Albert Wesker on the side spurring them on. Totally awesome And fun. Lots of smutty stuff and action later as I send them rambling along on various adventures. Fun, bad jokes, and sex mixed with staccato action and romance. It's my thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am not tech savvy enough to figure out the editing on here. I apologize for weird stuff. I can’t get it to do italics and I don’t understand html. Thank you for reading it anyway.

+Author's note:

So this is Jill and Chris' story. I'll take pieces of her tale from Absolution and tie it all together here in a different way. Some of it will be taking parts and blending it together. Some of it will be altering the timelines and taking the path another way. To do that, we have to remember that the two stories aren't connected. Exactly.

We'll start out seeing her from the eyes of the man who's loved her all his life. And how they tie together even in the beginning when they are but a boy and a girl and under the care of a mastermind psycho who will inevitably be their demise.

Hopefully it turns out the way I want. But seldom does anything turn out that way. So who the hell really knows? You won't need to have read Absolution to read this little tale. It will have some parts taken directly from it, mostly interaction between Chris and Jill, and some slight tweaks to make it run together. But the rest of the story will be their own.

Their first meeting is word for word almost from Jill's stuff in Absolution, if you've read it, you'll remember it. If not, it'll set up the dynamic of their friendship.

Slainte.

….

I: Chris Redfield

VESTIS VIRUM REDDIT

"You are the music while the music lasts." – T.S. Elliot

:::::::::::::ONE::::::::::::::

Raccoon City, 1998

She rose above him, slim and beautiful. The curve and cup and feel of her was like silk and sin and something he couldn't find the words to describe. He was gone for her and gone in her and gone in ways that had no name and never had in any language ever spoken.

Was there anything more beautiful in the entire universe?

He sat up sharply, spilling her into her lap to be even with him. His fingers twisted and gripped in her hair. He brought his mouth to him and kissed her, all tongue, all tasting greed. She murmured, wrapping her legs around him. Her eyes were closed, his were open; watching her. He could nothing but watch her. The curve and line of her face, the temptation of her lips, the blade of her nose all cast in shadow from the window beyond. He'd done nothing but see her, waking and asleep, since the moment they'd met.

He scooped her hair back from her face and slowed the rhythm of their rolling bodies. Sweating, gasping, she opened her eyes now and looked down at him. He saw the moment it arrowed into her, the truth of it. She knew he'd been watching her this whole time. He drew her down to kiss her again, soft and wet.

She held his eyes, shivering.

And it was the moment he knew he'd love her for the rest of his life.

….

Redfield, North Dakota Summer 1997

"CLAIRE!"

Chris Redfield came out of the shower with a fury. He barely had the towel wrapped around his waist. Claire, his baby sister who was home from college for the summer, was sitting at little table in the kitchen area with her Walkman in her ears. They were at their parents cabin for a long weekend.

His mother, Siobahn, was cooking at the tiny stove. She was a tall woman with a curly mess of red hair that was echoed in her daughter. The green eyes she turned to him were concerned. "Christopher!" The irish accent was thick and beautiful in her voice, "Here now. Why are you shouting? It can't be all that bad now, can it? You best be reconsidering how you raise your voice when I'm surrounded by popping grease and a frying pan."

"Sorry, Mama. Really. But Claire used all the hot water again!"

Claire, who'd somehow become a woman since last he'd seen her, shrugged and gave him the finger. She didn't even bother to remove her headphones.

Siobahn gave her a pointed look. Claire made a face and lowered her headphones. She said, grudgingly, "Sorry."

Chris rolled his eyes. "I generally don't take cold showers unless there's extenuating circumstances, Claire. Come on."

"Oh yeah? You mean like every time you see a pretty girl?"

Again, THE LOOK. Claire looked sheepish until their mother turned back to the stove. And she gave him the finger again.

"I'm gonna shove that finger up your ass, Claire."

"Christopher!"

"Sorry Mama." And he gave the finger back to his sister as he returned to the bathroom.

They were packing up the Wrangler out front when he came out. His father, Jack, was loading the fishing gear up. Jack Redfield was the reason for the cabin. It was there, in the town he'd been born and raised and shared a name with. It was his family's cabin and had been for as long as anyone could remember. Jack came from a long line of Lakota heritage. It was evident in his long black hair, carefully braided to his scalp and the coppery perfection of his skin, and outlined in the strong line of his jaw and face. His dark eyes were thoughtful and calm and patient. His patience was often mistaken for disinterest but the humor of Siobahn had opened him in ways that had no name years and years before when he'd met her.

He glanced up at his son as Chris' came out of the house to help him. Chris was inches taller then his old man but built the same. They were both tall and lean with the same jaw and nose. Chris had his mother's eyes and the soft freckles. They were dusted across skin somewhere between Irish pale and Lakota copper. Chris never burned. He tanned, beautifully.

Claire burned like a biscuit left too long in the oven. Her irish rose skin turned the color of a crab after a few hours in the sun. Chris never missed an opportunity to slap her on it when she was burnt. They were always torturing each other.

Jack said, "No Veronica this weekend?"

"God no. That's done. She was A-Class nutso."

"She seemed nice enough."

"Yeah. Until you slept with her. And then she started stalking me. What a psycho bitch."

"Don't let your mother hear you talk like that."

"I won't."

Jack watched Chris move. His handsome boy. All grown up and graduated from the police academy. Finally free from his years in the military after highschool, Chris had come home and gone right into police training. Jack was proud of him. The boy had a good head on his shoulders and a heart as big as it was loving. That was likely Siobahn's doing. But the good head? That was all him.

"You better find a girl and get married soon. Or your mother will start hounding you for grandbabies."

"Cheese and rice, Dad. I'm not looking for that kind of shit."

"Language."

"Sorry. But I'm not. I took that job in Raccoon City though."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe. It's still a few months off to be sure. But it sounds promising. Apparently the guy building the team asked for me specifically. So that's good right?"

"Naturally."

Jack tried to heft the heavy cooler into the Jeep and Chris said, "Here, Dad. Let me get that."

He did it easily. Jack studied him while Chris moved. He had a caged predator look to him that often drew female attention. The lithe frame was edging leanly into muscle. Chris had always had a desire to be the biggest dog in the pack. His obsession with building muscle had paid off. He clearly had no trouble hefting the heavy items.

"You realize, Chris, that meeting the right girl has nothing to do with your timing. Right?"

"Don't start on that fate stuff again, Dad. Seriously."

"You know what my people say, Chris, about planning your own."

"What? You think I'm going to show up in Raccoon City and meet my soul mate or something?"

The wind trickled and rolled around them, bringing a cool breeze from the West. Jack watched his son and felt the stirring of his ancestors. He said nothing…but he smiled.

"Come on, Dad. You don't really believe that stuff right? You think we don't choose our own fate?"

"I think fate chooses us. And we determine how to live within it. Something is stirring here. What? I can't say. But it's bringing the wind from the West. We'll have rain before nightfall."

His Dad was always doing that kind of thing, talking funny and sort of mystical. The scary part was that usually he was right. Chris watched him stare off toward the horizon with that look he got on his face when he was…communing with nature of something.

In one hand, Chris was interested to know what he felt when he did that. In the other, it was very likely hoowee and nonsense that had no place in a world built on rules. Destiny? Chris thought. It was a construct invented by people that simply couldn't do with the idea that they had no real control over their life. The only control you had, of course, was what you went out there and grabbed with both hands.

Siobahn came out of the house. "We should get moving, Jack. I don't suspect the lorry will be able to handle the mud of a long rainy drive home."

The lorry. She meant the Wrangler. But she was Irish and her dialect was always mixing things up. She called the driveway the street. She used words like "jackeen" and made her own cleaning supplies from beeswax and lemon.

She was a dancer slim and bright. She was also the funniest person Chris had ever met. And that was saying something. The laughter in his house growing up was the best part of them.

"Christopher, Veronica rang."

"Ugh."

"I told her, naturally, that you would love to ring her back once we're settled in. She's eagerly awaiting your voice, I'm sure."

"Come on, Mom. I told you about that."

"You did indeed. I'm surely sorry to trouble you, of course. But I can't quite seem to care. I do remember you promising me grandchildren. Do you see any?"

"…no."

"Get to fixing that please. I shan't want to be an old lady when I'm singing to my grandbabes."

"…yes ma'am."

His Dad was grinning over his head at him. Chris rolled his eyes. Siobahn moved to him and brushed his shirt smooth on his chest. "We'll be back for dinner. Try not to anger your sister too much before then. You know she's a right harpy when she's on a tear."

"The word is a bitch, Mama."

"Christopher."

And his Dad said, "Language."

"Sorry."

His mom kissed him. She smiled at him. "What a face! Jack, our boy is the handsomest man in three counties. To be sure."

"Without question."

"Thanks Mom." She kissed him and he smiled. She rubbed at his hair.

"This is terrible. Promise me you'll cut it."

"It's the style, Mama."

"It's awful. Makes you look like some Dublin sharpie with fancy shoes."

Chris rolled his eyes again. She kissed him once more and headed to the Jeep. Jack met his eyes over it. "Watch the weather. It's foretelling something. The wind is leading somewhere, Chris. I feel it in my bones. Is it good? Is it bad? Time will tell."

"I'll make sure I close the windows up."

"Good man. Tell Claire to behave."

"Right. She'll listen."

They climbed into the Jeep and honked the horn as they drove away. He had no way of knowing it would be the last time he saw them alive. Three hours later the rains came, brutal and fast. They whipped in from the West and downed power lines. They also caused the drunk on route 114 to swerve out of his lane.

His parents car took the hit head on. Their Jeep rolled and they died waiting for rescue crushed beneath the wreckage. The drunk driver lived.

The pain of it nearly killed him. Claire was inconsolable. She wouldn't get out of bed for weeks. Chris handled the funeral and the burial alone. He made sure it suited the ancestors.

He took a lock of his father's hair to the great tree and buried it beneath the earth at its feet. He rose at dawn and communed with the spirits. He spent two days sending their spirits to the waiting place beyond. He grieved. And drank.

He cried harder than anyone had ever done before. He died inside. He buried his feelings under training. And he took care of Claire.

At first, she wouldn't eat. He had to spoon feed her and force her into the shower. She was broken and lost and riddled with pain. He held her while she cried pieces of herself all over the floor. She didn't know how to exist in a world where they weren't. Neither did he. But he did his best.

She finally went back to school and Chris worked out with the registrar how to pay her tuition. His parents had only the cabin. There was no money there for them to leave to their children. Chris didn't care. He'd find a way to take care of her.

And it all started by moving to Raccoon City.

Hell or high water, he had to get the job now.

He stood outside of the cabin and stared off into the darkening horizon. What had his Dad said? Something was coming. Would he find it, he wondered, in Raccoon City?

Raccoon City, Winter 1997

Snow blew slow and gentle over the bustling city streets. The feeling of the holidays was hanging close above it, filling the sidewalks with eager shoppers and bright color packages. Tinsel and light presents, ornaments, and Christmas trees were strung in pretty array over the beautiful street lamps that lined the often cobblestone streets downtown. The clock tower at the heart of the city was covered in lights and lit up at night like a beacon.

The sprawling city of Raccoon had started life as a wide spot in the road. The injection of funds and inclusion of commerce by the Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company had turned it into a metropolis. It had gone from a Kansas farm to a city worth of Superman seemingly overnight.

The architecture was world reknowned. It was showed in the skyline and the buildings done in beautiful old stone work and revivalist arches and glass. It was a heady mix of new and old, showing a classical appreciate and a clear indication of a push toward the modern. It was ahead of its time, in some ways, the subway beneath the city was lightyears beyond what it should have been, showing that there was innovation in the eyes of those who wanted to see it thrive.

The Zoo was a marvel. It had brought in a variety of species of rare and exotic animals. People came from all over to enjoy the elephants and the nearly massive variety of frogs that had been imported from all over.

The RPD station was the jewel in the cap of Umbrella's greatest successes to date. Designed to remain gothic and classical and yet to offer cutting edge innovated technology with a gothic edge, it housed the ever growing police force and the newly created Special Tactics and Rescue Squad.

Little was known about the man responsible for coordinating the adoption of the S.T.A.R.S. he came highly recommended and on the heels of some kind of military training that was unclear. It was known that he was practically a genius and potentially a little odd. It wasn't known where he'd really come from before. But Umbrella had dumped more money than god into the city, so people were content to hire whomever they suggested without being too concerned about it.

The Mayor frequented the RPD station to visit with the police chief on more than once occasion and offered insight into the future of the burgeoning city. There were plans to expand the plants outside the city and generate jobs. The future, it seemed, was in vaccine and medical supply production. Healing the World One Step at a Time: Umbrella Pharmaceuticals.

The creation of jobs came with a downside, of course, as the influx of people into the city had created a higher crime rate and a need for a stronger police presence as a result. The call had gone out for qualified candidates and the lobby was sure to be filled with potential hopefuls looking for a chance to save the world and serve and protect.

He was late. Naturally. Because he was always late for everything in his life. If he was on time, it was rare and often times over looked by those who didn't know him. Chris Redfield was notorious for being at least fifteen minutes late to everything. Objectively, he'd probably even be late to his own funeral.

He bobbled folders and tried to figure out how to avoid pitfalls of snow along the path to the Raccoon City Police Department. He'd moved to Raccoon City three months before. The offer for S.T.A.R.S. had come on the heels of dealing with his parent's estate.

The accident still haunted him. He'd never forget the phone call. He'd never forget the fog in his brain that didn't go away for a month. He'd never forget any of it.

But it made him stronger and better for it.

There was no place to go now but up. He was seldom a man who dwelled in regret. Regret cost you in the battle. Regret made you weak. It left you vulnerable and naked in a world that fucked losers dry and left them crying in their own blood. He didn't have time for regret. He didn't have time for any of it. Claire needed money and he need this fucking job. He didn't need anything distracting him from that.

And then the wind blew him into the building and everything changed.

Jill Valentine shifted her curly dark hair around her face, nervous, and a little tired of waiting. The good thing about the police station in this stupid little Midwest town was that it was kinda awesome. She could see the time and effort put into its design. Someone cared enough about law enforcement to at least give the cops here a fun place to work.

The fountain in the lobby of the building was unparalleled. It was awesome sauce squared. It seemed to offer more than she knew in terms of its purpose. She was betting somebody was going to figure out its secrets one of these days…because something like that clearly had them.

She was in a little blue suit with a pencil skirt. It felt like she was wearing an itchy wool jumpsuit. She scratched her panty hose and shifted in her seat to look at her watch. Two hours.

Two HOURS? She'd been sitting here for TWO HOURS ALREADY. She sighed, watching another set of prostitutes get set down three rows over and locked to the bar. One winked at her with her gummy fake lashes. Jill smiled back, amused.

Surely this damn job wasn't worth the wait. It was tits, no lie, and had been offered to her at a time when she could barely pay the rent so it was also a god send. Otherwise she'd have been working at the local strip club in about a week to buy SPAM and Ramen Noodles. But that didn't mean they had to keep her sitting here FOREVER.

Jill glanced around trying to find something interesting to look at. She'd already studied the balcony and the lobby. She'd taken a brief walk around while the receptionist was aware that she was STILL THERE and STILL WAITING. The lady did look apologetic about it.

Jill moved into the cool lobby again as the doors opened and let the January cold in on a rush of frigid wind and freshly falling snow. The boy that came through them was tall. Really tall. She was betting at least six foot one and had that look of a kid trying to buff up and making good progress. He was broad shouldered under his ragged looking navy suit. The tie was crooked and the shirt beneath a little wrinkled. He had a sock hat stuffed on his head, arms full of folders, and the expression of someone running late.

And then he dropped the folders all over the floor and used a word that made her brows raise into her hair. She paused to see if anyone else was going to help him pick them up…nope. No one gave a fuck but her apparently. Fucking Raccoon City.

Jill hurried forward and bent down to help him.

"Hey thanks." The voice was nice, gravelly, and fit the face that turned to smile at her. A good face, she thought, handsome with an edge of something ethnic there. The eyes were a shade of blue somewhere between sky and sea. One way green, one way blue…pretty. Hers were blue of course but they were the blue of good steel. This guy never had the same color twice.

Jill smiled a little, "No problem. I'm Jill. Jill Valentine."

"Chris Redfield, how ya doin?" They shook.

"Honestly? I'm pissed off. Been sitting here for two fucking hours waiting for an interview."

"Yeah? What for?"

"Special Tactics and Rescue Squad…which vaguely sounds like a kids t.v. show. Sunday mornings with S.T.A.R.S!"

Chris Redfield laughed and nodded a little, "It does indeed. What would that be about I wonder? Teaching kids the perils of cleaning up drunks on the side of the road? Also..that's good for me. I'm late for the same interview. If you haven't even gone yet, I'm still good to go."

Jill Valentine was notoriously late for everything, so she got it. It was the first of many things that would bond them. She had been most of her life. It was perpetuated by a father that didn't know how to even be remotely on time. If he showed up at all of course. Henri-Louis Valentin was seldom, if ever, around when you needed him. She hadn't heard from him in years. Being in lock up all the time tended to impact your relationships and making it home for Christmas. Landing state side a French immigrant, Henri tried to Americanize his name and added the E to the end. And so, a brief fling later with her mother Noriko – a Japanese dancer in New York long enough to birth a baby and run away, Jillian-Aime Valentine was born.

Henri was a terrible father. He did the best he could, in some ways. He was lazy and self centered and above the law. So he often times stole or lied or cheated those around him. More than once, she woke up to find him having gotten his ass kicked by someone he'd grifted and gotten caught while doing it. He did seem to love her. He spoiled her with love when he could and educated her with books and bedside speeches. He was smart and stupid and flawed. He was in and out of jail and Jill ended up in foster homes most of her youth. He'd get her out and run her around and they'd sleep in trucks and trailers and have great adventures. He'd go back in lock up and she'd go back to group living and school.

She was smart as a whip and quick on her feet. He taught her how to bleed a bastard with her little knife and crack open safes like a professional. She loved him. And it was a real and painful love. Because he was a terrible, awful, failure of a father. She'd have loved, just once, to wake up in a surburban bedroom and been normal.

Jill carried one half of his folders and they moved into the chairs to sit down again, this time together. "What's all this stuff?"

"Honestly?" And he looked a little bemused and charmingly apologetic, "Test scores, recommendations, evaluations…stuff like that. Paper to impress the people in charge, ya know?"

Jill blinked and sighed. "Damn that's smart. I brought…nothing. Well not true!" She lifted her purse from beside her, "I brought gum!"

Chris laughed and looked at her. Gorgeous, he thought, she was gorgeous. Her eyes lifted a little at the corners and told the story of some kind of heritage that wasn't strictly American. There was no accent, no indication she'd come from anywhere but the town in which they were sitting. The hair was all kinds of curly and like the hide of a chestnut mare he'd had as a boy growing up. He wanted to touch it and see if it felt the same.

"Can I have some? I probably have dragon breath from the nachos I was scarfing down about twenty minutes ago."

"Nachos? Before an interview?" Jill chuckled and handed him a stick of gum. "Was that wise?"

"In hindsight? No. But at the time? Yes. I can't resist chili, cheese, and chips man."

Jill laughed again and slapped his leg. "Oh god…I can't even imagine what happens if you fart while talking to the police chief."

"Maybe he'd laugh. I know I would."

Chris watched her face while she laughed. Yeah, he thought, gorgeous. Perfect little teeth and that mouth that was all top lip and smooth. He pulled off his sock hat and smacked the snow off against his leg. He wasn't a man given to staring at a girl like an idiot but he wanted to stare at Jill Valentine. What was it? The beauty?

No. He'd been around beautiful women plenty. What was it?

Jill chuckled at him. "The sock hat may have been a bad idea too, in hindsight."

"Hat hair?"

"It's pretty bad."

"Well help a guy out here, woman."

Jill turned him toward her and played with his hair. He watched her and he knew he kinda liked her. She had little hands and a brief glance down told him she also had some pretty awesome tits under that saucy little jacket. He was pretty sure she was the first girl since he'd moved to town to interest him like that.

She was probably the first girl since his parents died to even get a second look. What was it about her?

"There! Better. Although…I'm not sure this is the right style hair for you."

"Hey! This is the thing now. I'm working it…sorta."

"You would do good with something shorter. You have a helluva face. You don't need to hide it behind hair."

Chris chuckled. "Well thanks. I'd say the same to you."

"Yeah? I was thinking of cutting it."

"You should. Short. Like here." He touched her face at the chin. And there it was. There was the thing he was looking for…attraction. He was attracted to her, almost painfully. Why? "You don't need the hair. Your face is killer. Show it off."

"You think?"

"For sure."

"Awesome. Thanks."

"You bet." Chris started leafing through his folders to organize them. She studied his profile. He was handsome, yeah, but it wasn't just that. What was it about him that just clicked with her? Resonated had meaning here.

"What's the dark skin tone?"

He glanced up, lifted a brow, and went back to organizing, "My Dad's native American."

"Your dad is? You don't consider yourself to be?"

"No I do. I guess. Kinda. It's weird." He settled his files on the chair next to him and turned toward her now. His arm slid around the back of her chair. It wasn't anything more than a relaxation move. But she liked it. "I grew up in the culture of it, pretty heavily. But my mother isn't at all. She's right off the boat from Ireland, ya know? So there was a culture shift after my sister was born. We had both and they didn't really push too hard at either. I have some strong connections to both sides and sometimes I don't."

"Sounds reasonable." Jill shifted a little closer to him to hear him over the din of the noise in the lobby. "You have a sister?"

"Yeah. Claire. She's starting college now. She's a good kid. Got her head on right. And that's really why I need this job, desperately."

"Oh yeah? I do too. I'm about to get evicted."

"That sucks. I hear ya. And Claire's tuition needs paid."

Jill lifted her brows at him. "Your parents aren't paying it?"

"No. A good part was financial aid and scholarships and pell grants, ya know? But the rest is on me."

"How come?"

"My parents died about six months ago."

There was such pain in his voice. But he said it in that gruff way she was coming to admire and like. She watched his face to see him feel that pain and absorb it. No bullshit, she thought, he just felt it. And she liked that too. She found herself shifting her hand onto his knee and holding. "I'm so sorry."

"Thanks." He smiled a little, "Claire was still too young to be alone. So I got custody of her."

Jill watched his face now. He was something else. He couldn't be very old. Not very old at all. And he'd gotten custody of his teenage sister. And he was trying to pay for her college. "You took over the care of your sister?"

"Of course, she's my baby sister." Like that was it. He said it like that was the only option. No question. Family, Jill realized, she was family.

"And now you're paying for her to go school."

"Yep."

Jill lifted her hand from his knee and put it on the side of his face. He turned to look at her. They held eyes for a long moment. He liked her, he realized, and he liked the touching. She was casual about it, nearly impersonal. She just touched him because she liked it. And he liked that. No games here, he thought, this girl was a dude with tits. And a killer face.

She said, "I'm really glad you dropped your files."

He answered, "Me too. You want me to take you out some time, Jill Valentine?" He felt comfortable asking her and, even more, he felt excited by the idea. He hadn't been excited about anything since his parents had died.

Confident little guy. She grinned at him. "No. But why don't I take you out instead? You can ride on the back of my bike."

Chris snorted out a laugh. "What an image that is. You ride?"

"Yep. I've got a Yamaha. So I'm more of a crotch rocket girl at the moment. But I'm hoping to get my Harley one of these days."

"I've got my Dad's. It's a Heritage Softail. It flies. You want to go sometime? Seriously. I'd love to take you out on it."

"Are you talking about dating me, Chris Redfield?"

"Maybe. You interested?"

"Actually yeah. But I can't do it. I have a boyfriend."

"Just my luck." Chris laughed good naturedly but swallowed the disappointment, "Well how about we go out as friends? I can kick your ass at pool, we can race up the highway."

"In winter?"

"What's life without some risk?"

Jill lifted a brow at him, "Alright. Deal."

He studied her face. What was it about her? And then, he figured, he'd throw down or go down and lay it all out for her. Worst case scenario? He offended her and she stormed off. Best case? He put the seeds of something in her brain to grow into a big, fat tree filled with sweat and sex. "For the record, I would have taken you for a ride and then ridden you until you couldn't walk for a week. Pretty sure you might be the hottest girl I've talked to in a long time. I'd love to bounce around on you naked and leave you sweaty and satisfied."

Jill choked on the water she was drinking. She laughed and looked over at him. His face was guileless and amused. And, the sneaky little shit, she was interested. Impressed with him, she gave him bored eyes anyway. She said, "That's the worst flirting I've ever heard."

"No flirting. Truth. Sometimes I can't an articulate sentence with two hands, a flashlight, and a dictionary but I can fuck like a freight train."

Wow. He was…he was something. He was something pretty great. He talked to her like she was a man. She was quickly coming to learn that No Bullshit was probably his motto. Or maybe not…maybe it was a brilliant tactic of flirting she'd never come across before. Either way, he'd just earned her respect and her adoration in a single move. Brilliant.

Jill slapped a hand against her chest and laughed. It was gut laughing. She threw back her head and laughed like crazy. She turned herself a little toward him and put her head on his shoulder. He curled an arm around her shoulders and held her. And that felt right too. Click, she thought, click click click.

"Some girls might find that kind of thing incredibly offensive, Chris Redifeld."

"True. But I get the feeling you're not that girl."

"No. I'm not that girl. Although I am pretty sad I have a boyfriend."

Chris laughed, "He sounds like a turd. Dump him and let's go out."

Jill laughed again, a little in love with him, "I can't dump a guy I've been dating for a year because you fuck like a freight train."

"No? I also love to eat pussy. Just sayin."

Now she slapped a hand over his mouth, laughing so hard it was drawing attention. Those eyes, she thought a little madly, they sparkled at her. He was painfully funny with it. And, for the first time in two hours, she was thrilled to be sitting here. She said, "You have to stop. You're awful."

He was grinning when she pulled her hand back. "I'm good at it. Really good. I'll get you creamy and I'll lick you clean, I promise."

She slapped her hand over his mouth again. And was intensely turned on at the same time. He was very good at being dirty. And she loved a dirty mouth. "Chris Redfield…you are offensive, sort of uncouth, and hilarious. You are also disgusting and vaguely cute. So I will let you be my friend…BUT THAT IS ALL."

Chris sighed dramatically, "Can I just touch your boob then? What do you say?"

She slapped his arm and then his leg. "Behave. People are staring."

"We should give them a show. Here." She figured he was going to keep hitting on her. It was kinda great that he was. It was flattering and she liked it. She loved the no bullshit approach here. Her boyfriend, Greg, was like that. Which was why he worked. He had a lot of tattoos and was in a rock band. But that was secondary. It was the no bullshit that Jill liked.

Chris pulled out a quarter. Jill looked at it and then at him. "…ok."

"Wait and watch." He lifted it, showed it to her, shook his hand…and it was gone.

She blinked, "You do magic?"

"Oh yeah baby. I'm talented. I also cook pretty well." The quarter was in her hand. She lifted it and was impressed. How did it get there? He was sort of amazing, the little cheeky bastard. She studied that face. He stared back, no blinking.

"You like a good steak?"

"Who the hell doesn't?"

"Exactly. Saturday. You come over, bring the stupid boyfriend if you want, and we'll have steak."

"You can't keep calling him the stupid boyfriend."

"Well he is. But ok. Seeing as I want to keep hanging with you, I guess I need to be nice to the stupid boyfriend."

She gave him a look and he grinned. Her lips twitched.

"You want a fix up? I can bring a friend for you."

"Yeah sure. I'm hard up. Make sure she's easy. Also with big cans."

Jill laughed so loud it startled the hookers that were sitting behind them. One of them said, "Twenty bucks baby and I'll make sure you're just hard."

Chris snorted and laughed. "Thanks. But I think you're gonna be in jail soon. How would I call you afterward?"

The hooker said, "Sugar… you know guys don't call afterward."

Chris laughed again. "True. True." He leaned over and said quietly, "I'd call you, Jill Valentine. Swear to god."

Jill looked at him and glanced at his mouth.

Oh, he thought, awesome. Go down or throw down had worked like a charm. She was into him. He lifted a brow. "Don't do that. That goes against them friendship guidelines. You can't mack on your buddy."

"What's "mack"?"

"You know…suck face. Play tonsil hockey."

Jill was laughing again. "Are you talking about kissing?"

"Yeah. That's what I said."

"No. You did not say kiss once."

"Sure I did."

Jill put her head back on his shoulder. It was nice. It was really great to have someone she felt so comfortable with right off the bat. He felt the same. But not exactly. Even the hookers in the chairs behind them could see what she couldn't. That boy was in love with her.

Even the sociopath that opened the door to invite her inside could see it. And he filed it away for later. Albert Wesker remembered everything…the curse of being a genius. But it gave him exactly the type of thing he'd been searching for. Just like that, he had two people's weaknesses. And the game he was playing shifted a little more in his direction.

Sitting in the interview, Jill was sweating bullets. The guy was weird…and creepy? Or something. Handsome, definitely. But with an edge that made her feel weird and judged.

She sipped her water. Wesker watched her. Time clicked and ticked. He wouldn't let her do anything but sit there and wait. She felt like she was going to pee her pants or potentially pass out. Maybe both.

She said, "Did you have any other questions for me?"

Wesker studied her. She felt like a bug in a jar being watched by a scientist or something. She stared back, unable to look away. His eyes were very, very blue and arctic. Like chips of ice with emptiness behind them. She shivered. And she realized she kinda afraid of him. Why? He'd been polite and very professional. He was clearly very articulate and handsome. He wasn't at all lecherous or rude or perverted. He was just SITTING there. Why was she afraid of him?

"I question your dedication, Ms. Valentine. You seem to bounce from job to job."

"Yes. I hadn't found the right fit before this. I think I have the skills you're looking for."

"Indubitably. Skills, yes. But dedication? We'll see. You left Delta Force?"

"I did. It wasn't for me long term. I wanted something more stable."

"So you're seeking stability?"

"Yes. And longevity. I want to help people too which sounds…probably more cliché than it should. But I do."

"I see. And your romantic life? It won't interfere with the job?"

"No. Of course not. I'm here 24/7 if you need me."

"Good. That's good. I have big plans for this unit, Ms. Valentine. I expect and require complete and utter determination and obedience."

Creepy. It was there again. That level of something that scared her a little. Was she reading too much into it? Obedience, he'd said, like a dog. She was least obedient person she knew. Definitely. So it was interesting that he was using that word. A test?

"You'll get it, sir. I promise you."

"Then I think you'll do well here."

He didn't shake goodbye. He made her feel like a mouse in a field while the snake watches it. She wondered if he'd strike as she left. He remained sitting and she still felt like she should hit the door, start running, and never stop.

She met Chris in the chairs again. He looked at her eagerly. "Went good?"

"I got it."

"Awesome. Congrats."

She smiled. "Thanks. You'll do fine too I'm sure. But just…he's odd."

"Odd? Like how?"

"Yeah. Something. You'll see. I can't explain it."

"Alrighty."

"Listen…I'm gonna go home and change out of this monkey suit. You want to meet me for a drink somewhere?"

He studied that face. And he saw the moment she glanced at his mouth again. Bingo. He was in. "Yeah. Yeah I do. Where?"

"There's a place down the road. J's Bar? Can't miss it. It has the worst food around but the beer is good. And the waitress is pretty."

"Double whammy. I'll see you there."

"Cool." She hesitated. And laughed a little. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

She went to her apartment thinking about ice chip eyes and what it would be like to get fucked like a freight train by Chris Redfield. She switched into jeans and a blue v-neck sweater. She stopped off to get a hair cut on the way to the bar.

What was it about Wesker? The guy made her feel about three inches tall. She'd have to get over it to work for him but still. Creepy.

J's Bar was a hole in the wall frequented by Raccoon City's finest. It was small and quaint with enough space for bodies, beer, and bad dart playing. One cop was over there doing his best to keep from face planting as he lost again. He was cute, objectively, with shaggy hair and a wrinkled uniform. She laughed a little as he tripped over his own feet and sat down in a chair. The name tag on his uniform said: Ryman. There was a girl sitting at a table alone pounding away on a little chunky computer thing and a couple of college kids laughing off to one side. A couple of security guards were having a drink at the long bar.

The drunk cop was rising again to try to play darts. He was dedicated at least. Raccoon Cities finest hard at work.

Jill chuckled while she waited for Chris. Greg was off playing a gig in Wombat Junction so there was no chance of seeing him that night. She sipped her long neck and considered things. She'd gotten the job, which was awesome sauce and totally needed. But what was with the Captain? He gave her the willies. He looked at her like she was something he wanted to open up and dissect. Did no one else find him creepy?

Chief Irons she could handle. He was a pervert, sure, and a dirty old man. He'd stared at her tits all through the interview. He was typical. But Albert Wesker hadn't bothered. He didn't care about her tits or her ass or anything like that. He watched her reactions, studied her movements. It was scary and made her feel like a lab rat. He was learning her in a way that made her afraid to go back to work.

"You need another beer honey?"

She glanced up at Cindy, the waitress. Cindy was sweet and pretty and funny. She handled drunks and college kids and stupid cops with aplomb. She was sincere and friendly. She and Jill were becoming good friends. She was blonde and thin and tall and had the no bullshit approach to life that Jill did.

"Does it come with dick? I need some."

"Fraid not. You hard up?"

"Sadly. Greg is always gone. I've been considering getting a dildo."

"Won't get the job done. You need a good hammering."

"Yeah. Because so many guys are just that good in bed right?"

"Most are lazy and stupid and last five minutes. Occasionally you get one that fucks like a porn star. But it's rare. You find one, you send him my way."

The door of the bar jingled and in walked the one who claimed to do just that. Jill watched him, curious. He flipped her switch, no lie. He was cute without being annoying about it and funny without trying. Cindy studied him too.

"I like a new face. Dibs?"

"No dibs. Go for it."

"I think I will."

Chris wandered over, grinning. He was in an old Penn state sweatshirt and nine hundred year old jeans. She smiled as he claimed the stool next to her.

"See? Pretty waitress at two o'clock."

"I saw that. Good eye."

"Thanks. She's interested P.S. So you're golden."

"Nice. Wing man without even trying."

"The Jill Valentine special."

"Where's the stupid boyfriend?"

She faced him, grinning. And she knew she was kinda interested in him on several levels. It was a damn good face under that awful haircut. She loved the awful haircut. It made him less perfect and flipped her switch again. "He's working. How'd the interview go?"

"Fine. I got your meaning. Wesker? That guy is a freak. He kept asking me about my "drive". I got the feel he wasn't talking about my golf game."

"What did you tell him?"

"That I had plenty, of course. But I don't think he meant what I think he meant."

"Right? Creeper."

"Oh yeah." She turned to face him. He studied her face. God damn she was beautiful. And then he said, "You cut off all your hair."

And he was pretty stupid to have not noticed before that.

"I did. Are you the slowest guy you know? Maybe it took you until the second grade to color inside the lines?"

"I have my moments. Although I rare stay in the lines, dollface. Where's the fun in that? It looks awesome. You're fucking gorgeous. But I'm sure you get told that all the time."

"Not really. I was a total dork in school. Late bloomer."

"I was the football captain."

Jill met his gaze. "Of course you were. Of course."

"Jealous?"

"Not even a little. You were probably shallow and stupid and self serving."

"Without question. I was also getting laid pretty frequently, so there were perks."

"Oh yeah? How's that working for you now, peaked in highshool guy?"

"Temporary dry spell. Want to help a guy out?"

"Can't do it. Involved."

Chris watched her face. She watched his. He chuckled. "Fair enough. You want me to tone it down on the hitting on you?"

"Nope. Continue. I like it."

"I figured you probably did. Women. They want you to flirt, they just don't want you to touch."

"Yep. The perpetual mystery that is woman."

"Damn you all." And there was no rancor there. Nothing. He was good natured in his bones. He was fun. And clearly interested. She liked him.

They had a couple of beers and played darts. He was good, really good, and beat her over three rounds pretty consistently. He pretty much became her best friend after that night.

They were inseparable after that. They put their desks together at the station. They were always calling each other. They rode bikes in the dead of winter over the next few weeks and found different places to eat together. Chris was a foodie and so was Jill. They loved to drive to obscure hole in the walls and try the cuisine.

Working with Wesker wasn't as bad as it should have been. He was still odd but less creepy. He had them patrolling and cleaning up after drunks and breaking up fights. They worked in conjunction with regular police to assist on drug raids and things that required tactical assistance. They did a lot of paperwork. TONS. TONS AND TONS. It was so boring it was like being punched in the face with boring.

They were put in training simulations constantly. He pitted them against each other on the mat and on the range. She couldn't top Chris on the range and he couldn't beat her on the mat, so it was a good friendship. They ended up in Alpha team together instead of Bravo. What was the distinction? Apparently nothing in terms of skill set. It just distributed the various attributes of the respective members of STARS more equally.

She showed up at Chris' place at odd hours. She always had something stupid to tell him. Did he know that if you poked the sculpture in the RPD lobby that the mermaid turned? Did he know that if you swiped the card key from Betty at reception that you could get into that locked room outside the bullpen?

"What in there?" Chris queried over beers and pork steaks one night.

"That's the thing; nothing. It was empty. Just a desk with a stupid raven hanging over it and a tiger with missing eyes. Creepy. And dumb."

"Seriously. What a joke."

"No lie."

"Where's the stupid boyfriend?"

"Working. Where else?"

The stupid boyfriend was a constant ass pain. He was never around. He'd met Chris once and been totally ambivalent about his woman running around with another guy. Chris wasn't a jealous guy either, so that part was fine. But he didn't even give a shit when Chris put his arm around Jill at lunch that day to test him and kept it there. Greg was a super douche and a loser.

He figured she'd eventually wise up and cut him loose.

One night, they went about an hour away to Turtle Creek to try the "best chicken wings in three states". They were sitting on barstools, enjoying some pretty good wings, in a little sports bar called the Home Run when Jill saw Greg with his band. She was surprised. She hadn't known he was playing tonight. He'd said he was working. But maybe that meant playing.

He was finishing up a set on stage. He was all long hair and tattoos and tank tops with ragged jeans. Chris eyed him with the sense of a guy. He knew the dude was bad news. But Jill was all about him. And Jill was pretty much his best friend.

So he kept his peace on it.

Greg jumped down from the stage, Jill rose to go to talk to him…and Greg stopped, caught some running little thing with blonde hair and a thong sticking out the back of her jeans, and sucked her face. Jill froze, froze, and sat back down on the stool.

She was pale beneath her beautiful short hair cut. It made her gorgeous face shine. But Greg was sucking the face of some bleach blonde skank with a tramp stamp.

Jill was in a soft blue sweater and little black pants. Chris, in his gray RPD hoodie and jeans that were pretty much rags with stitching missing, rose from his stool. He wiped his mouth with the napkin and ran his tongue around his teeth. No hope for it now, it had to go down this way. His mom wouldn't have had it any other way.

Jill kept sitting there staring. She didn't even move.

Chris rolled his left arm, rolled his right and walked across the bar. He popped his neck as he moved and pushed up his sleeves. Greg with his skinny face and all that greasy hair, stopped sucking face, saw him and froze.

"Shit." Said the stupid boyfriend.

"Yeah, ass face, you're done now. Boo." He didn't just throw the punch, he turned his hip and drove it. The power of it rang down his arm as it hit that startled face. The girl still stuck to him barely had time to scream and scramble out of the way. His arm went numb from fingers to elbow. He shook his hand as Greg went backward, hit the table behind him, and took it down in a spill of glass and booze. The people at the table leapt up in surprise and to avoid disaster.

The other band members came running. Greg, meanwhile, was on his ass on the floor knocked cold. Chris pushed his sleeves up again to face the rest of the motley crew he ran with. "Who's next?"

The other band guys weren't stupid. They didn't want to fight. They kept lifting their hands. Which sucked for him. Because Chris loved the fight. It was what he lived for. And he was so mad for Jill, so angry, that he wanted to kick everyone's ass in that place.

Greg was stirring on the floor. Chris knelt down and grabbed a handful of his shirt. "Who the fuck cheats on a girl like that? You look at her again, I'm going to stuff my fist down your throat, unscrew that two watt bulb that barely powers your brain, and cram it up your ass. You're done with her now."

He tossed him back on the floor and turned back to Jill.

Her eyes were so wide it was like looking at a little anime girl.

He walked toward her, pulled out some cash to toss on the table, grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him. She moved, saying nothing, still wide eyed. She grabbed her coat as she went but didn't put it on.

They left the bar to silence. Admittedly, it had been a helluva show. He had hoped for a better fight, of course, but there wasn't any hope when you were up against a dick with no balls.

They pushed out into the cold air. He could see his breath. Jill said, softly, "You need a coat."

"I'm not cold."

"Chris…"

"Hang on. I'm trying to figure this out."

"What?"

He turned to her. He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and threw her against the wall beside the bar. She gasped and let him. His hands planted beside her face on the wall. And he stood there for a moment.

Oh, she thought, of course. That was always under the surface. That attraction. It was very real and layered in friendship and laughter. And there was THIS, she thought, just there waiting. This thing about him that tempted her. That spill of power or something that beckoned at her like a demon, tempting her to sell her soul for a taste of him. Such a calm man, his rivers ran deep and ragged beneath the surface. He was all physical, all skin and touch. He was always touching her. Little ways, big ways. She liked it. She felt it in her bones when he touched her. And the way he looked at her left her breathless.

She studied the tilt of his face in the moonlight. It was handsome without being annoying. He was so funny. He never let her dwell for long in the bad stuff. He was always doing stupid stuff at work to make her laugh. The whoopee cushion situation was getting out of control of course but that was her own fault. She needed to start checking seats before she sat down.

She whispered, "You big hero."

He laughed a little and looked down at her face. He tilted his head one way, tilted it back the other. He kept looking at her mouth. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" It was surreal in the cold air and the sounds of the music in the bar still muffled behind them. "For what?"

"He was your guy."

"No." She shook her head, her hands slid up under his sweatshirt and touched his bare skin. She felt the goosebumps on him. "No. You're my guy. You just proved that."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. What now, big hero?"

"I think I'm kinda into you, Jill Valentine."

"So what are you gonna do about that?"

"Damnit." He cupped her head and neck in one hand and kissed her. Jill looped her arms around him and pulled him closer. His other arm moved right down her back and cupped her ass. The top of her head blew off and landed somewhere out in the snow. He kissed like he meant business. The bottom of her stomach filled with warm and willing want. She slid her hands around his back and into the top of his pants.

He pressed her back into the brick and they tried to eat each other. He lifted her against the brick wall enough that her feet dangled. After a few moments, they both came up for air. "Oh," She said softly, "Oh."

Chris laughed a little, "Yeah..oh is about right."

"Chris…" She caught his face, "This is going to sound crazy. But I don't want to lose you."

"I'm so hard right now I'm about to fuck you through both ours pants. I don't feel very lost."

Jill laughed, loving him, "If we go home and do this, we're gonna fall in love."

"Yeah," he angled her face up and kissed her mouth, soft, "Yeah. Probably. Definitely. Hell."

He kissed her. It was heavy and hot and very sweaty. Freezing cold outside and they were in a bubble of it, protected. Jill leaned back, panting. "Ok..haha…oy. Just…let's look at this objectively."

"Let's look at it naked. Things are better naked."

The hands under his sweatshirt agreed. So she took them off him. "Ok. So maybe you go over there." She signaled to the other wall.

Chris snorted out a laugh and stepped back. "Ok. There. Talk."

"You like one word commands. Eat. Pray. Love."

He laughed again, "Out with it, Jill. What's the dealio?"

"Maybe we go back to your place and we do it."

"Yes. Let's go."

"Chris, be serious." But she laughed.

"I am. Let's go do that. I like you, Jill. I'm not playing games here. I just want to go home, bounce on you naked, and wake up tomorrow for coffee…and do it again. Let's go do that."

"I want to. I want to do all that. But I know what happens after that. We do it. We do it again. We end up in love. Somebody fucks up and gets hurt. And we work together. How does that go down? Awkward and weird and uncomfortable. It all goes bad."

Chris thought about it for minute. "Ok. So I agree…to a point. But why does it go bad? I'm not like other guys, Jill. I'm not asking you to marry me or have my babies or do anything you don't want to do. You don't need to be my girlfriend. You're already kinda my girlfriend anyway. We just don't fuck. So..let's add the fucking to it and go from there."

Jill looked at him in the cold air. "Did you just ask me to go steady?"

He looked confused. "Did I?"

"I don't know? You're so weird."

Chris laughed again, "Jill, I want to see you naked. I wanted that two seconds after I met you. I'm a guy, I pretty much picture everyone naked. You don't want that, no problem. Seriously. I dig you. We're friends. And I don't want to do anything but be friends. You want to add the benefits, I'm down with that too."

"Then what was that kiss?"

"That was adrenaline coupled with being hard up. I haven't gotten laid in months. I need five minutes on the floor with a willing woman. It doesn't have to be you."

"Chris Redfield, you are the least romantic person I've ever met."

"That is unfair. I just punched that dude in there for you."

"You did. That's true." She studied him in the cold air. He lifted a brow at her. She laughed a little.

"Let's go, you weirdo. Take me home."

"Yes, ma'am. I live to serve."

She laughed and sighed at the same time. She'd sorta just broken up with her cheating boyfriend and made out with her best friend. It was an odd day even for Jill Valentine.

They moved to his car and climb in. He fired up the furnace while they shivered. The engine groaned angrily at them. She lifted her brows. Chris' "car" was an old Ford Bronco. It needed help.

"This thing needs shot and put out of its misery."

Chris chuckled and cruised down the road toward Raccoon City. "It's good man. I keep her tuned up."

"She sounds awful. When did you change her oil last?"

He thought about it for a minute. Jill lifted her brows. "Chris Redfield…do you know anything about car maintenance?"

"Some. Mostly my Dad handled that stuff."

"You spoiled little brat!" She laughed so loud it hurt, "I will help you. I will teach you all I know."

"Help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my only hope."

"Clearly. A guy who can't change his own oil…the mythical beast."

Chris shrugged, unconcerned. "They make auto clubs for that shit."

"Can you change a tire?"

Chris pursed his lips and considered. "Probably."

"Oh my god," Jill grabbed his arm and laughed for a long moment. He grinned and grabbed her knee, squeezing.

"Watch it Valentine. You're hurting my ego."

"There is SOOOO much to hurt too. You need help. I am here to save you. Don't you worry."

He idled up in front of her building and parked. "Here ya go, Obi-Wan. You're home."

She turned to look at him in the semi-darkness. He grinned at her. She liked his profile. It was doing strange things to her belly. It made her feel funny in her pants too.

"Thanks for punching Greg."

"Yup. He had it coming."

"He did."

"Enlighten me. Skinny, tattooed, and plays the guitar…that flips your switch huh?"

"Sometimes. I like music. It's my thing. The skinny thing is neither here nor there. The tattoos though? Yeah that does it for me."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

He pulled off the hoodie. Across the top of his chest were the names of his parents. They were woven through the celtic infinity symbol inside of a dreamcatcher and the date of their death was woven along the bottom with feathers to represent, she was sure, the native American heritage and the irish. It was beautiful and told the story of a boy who'd loved his parents. And lost them too soon.

Objectively, he was in good shape. He was lean but edging toward muscle with the right amount of definition in his stomach and arms. The under side of his left wrist said CLAIRE in a rolling scrawl. His sister. He had his sister tattooed on him. He was just that guy.

Jill said, "Well shit."

He lifted his brows at her. "What?"

"You get what matters to you tattooed on your body."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You're THAT guy."

"Which guy is that?"

"The one that loves forever."

He met her eyes in the flicker of streetlight. "When you earn it, yeah."

"Shit. And double shit."

"Is that a spell or something?"

Jill chuckled. She touched the tattoo on his chest and she shook her head. Click click click. And yet a little scary. Because he flipped so many switches and usually with that much instant clicking, the fall to the death was that much harder. Admittedly, she'd never hit on so many levels with a guy before. But she wanted to see him naked now and feel that freight train he'd promised. But she was kinda afraid to see the friendship end. Maybe there was a way to have both.

"No strings?"

"With what?"

She climbed over and straddled him, just like that. His hands slid up her back. Hers cupped his face. "Oh..." he grinned at her in the semi-darkness, "yeah, no strings, Jill. Just us. Why do we have to be anything other than that?"

"Yeah. Why?" She lowered her mouth to kiss him. It was hot and wet and full of tongue. She put her hands on him under his shirt and added some nails. He liked it, grunting, and rubbed her over him.

A long moment passed and she leaned back to look at him, "You want to come upstairs?"

He nodded, "Yeah. I want to come upstairs."

She lead him up the narrow staircase to her room. She wasn't nervous. Which was odd to start with. And even more than that, she believed him. Chris was no bullshit. No drama. He wouldn't make this weird. He'd probably make it amazing.

She opened the door to the room and tossed her keys on the rickety table in the kitchen. The room was small, sparse, and had little pieces of her all over it. It was painted blue on one wall. It had a faded and falling apart sofa in green. It had magazines for guns and girly shirt on the scratched up and sagging coffee table. She had shoes like butterflies marking the line of death from one end to the other.

Jill was disorganized on a good day. Her apartment reflected her I don't give a fuck mind set. She had no family pictures anywhere. She had nothing that said some come from anywhere. Clothes were tossed in random locations. She tossed her coat over a chair in the kitchen.

She popped a tape into her little tape player and turned to look at him. "Ground rules?"

Curious, Chris leaned on the wall to watch her. "Why not?"

"No, I love you. We work together. It complicates things. And Wesker? That creep would probably love to fire us for mixing work and play."

Interesting. He said, "He totally would. Yesterday? I swear he was trying to watch me pee."

"That's not even true."

"God's truth."

Jill chuckled, "You agree to rule one?"

"Ok. No problem. What else?" And now he moved around the apartment, glancing at the things he saw. She had a disassembled piece on the top of a magazine, mid clean. She had a set of expensive lock picks on the kitchen counter. A shoulder holster was hanging by the door.

"No jealousy."

"You gonna follow that rule too?"

She laughed a little. "Yeah I am. You're not mine. We're just friends."

"Friends." He watched her face. She meant it. Interesting.

"Friends that kiss."

"Sure. Friends that kiss. Anything else?"

"Yeah. You want a drink?"

"Yep."

She pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels and went to get glasses. Chris snorted, "Fuck the glasses. Bring the bottle."

"A man after my own heart."

They both took a swig of it. It burned as it went down. The music on the boombox was AC/DC. They were clearly wanting him to shake her all night long. He lifted his brow at her. "Interesting music choice. You setting me up for something here?"

"That's the idea. You want to play this game, Redfield? Could get kinda dangerous."

Oh yeah he did.

"Your ball, Valentine. How do you want to play it?"

Jill said, "Take off your sweatshirt. Stay awhile."

"Fuck buddies?"

"You ok with that?"

Chris laughed, loudly. He tossed his sweatshirt off and shrugged, "Is there a guy in Raccoon City who'd say no?"

"I'm sure there is."

"He's probably an asshole. Or an idiot. Or both."

Jill chuckled. She shucked off her top. He jerked his belt free of his pants. Jill laughed and kicked off her boots. Chris threw his off toward the kitchen.

Jill pulled off her pants and kicked them aside. She faced him in her bra and panties.

Chris dropped his jeans and stood there in his boxers.

She was perfect, he thought, she was all big tits and curvy hips and long legs. Hourglass, they called that. She was the perfect hourglass. He couldn't wait to get his mouth on her. He bet she tasted like wet, hot, slick need.

Apparently they were doing an eye for an eye. Jill watched him, "What's this game?"

"Your game. Your move."

"Whatever I want?"

"Whatever you want."

Jill reached to the clasp on her bra and released it, sliding it down her arms to the floor. And there it was, she thought, there was the fire. It flickered bright in those blue eyes. They locked eyes and held them. He would always be the guy that got it, he simply got it. He let her make the moves. Her nipples were already hard and excited. He noticed and she was very aware of it.

It was something to stand on opposite sides of the room and face each other mostly naked. Chris kicked aside his jeans and pulled off his socks. Jill laughed a little. Shrugging, she pulled her panties down her legs.

Chris shrugged too and copied her. They both stood there looking at each other. Chris said, finally, "This is the best friendship I've ever had."

Jill laughed, loudly and nodded, "It is. Food, booze, and fucking. Best friends forever?"

"I'm thinkin so. I had a best friend in junior high who had a pool. This is better."

"Yeah? You got wet in a pool though."

"I'll get wet in you too."

That worked. She was turned on. She'd been almost there. The dirty talk finished her off. She eyed him. He waited but he was very, very ready for her. He was also HUGE. And it made her breath come fast and frightened and excited.

"Your dick is enormous."

Chris laughed, delighted. "I warned you. You're gonna figure out I don't lie one of these days. Want to back out, Valentine?"

"Please. I love a challenge. I did think you were flirting though and maybe exaggerating a little. Clearly not. You planning to be gentle?"

"Are you kidding? I'm going to rip you in half."

Oh dear lord. She nearly came just thinking about it. His flirting in the RPD, not flirting she realized. He'd meant it. He was hung and had probably made girls bowlegged his whole life. How was he not married and raising eight hundred babies by now? He was the total package WITH the total package.

"Last chance to decline, buddy. No hard feelings."

"I'm planning lots of hard feelings, Redfield. And you promised a lot of things. Not sure you're gonna live up to that talk."

"Try me. I'm a man of my word."

"Oh yeah?"

"Always?"

"Always."

"Freight train?" She asked sweetly.

"You got it, dollface."

"Prove it."

"Done." Chris moved toward her. He grabbed her and threw her against the wall. She hit hard and gasped, losing her breath. He didn't stop. He filled one hand with one of those tits he'd wanted to see and didn't give her a chance to change her mind.

Freight train, he'd said. He'd meant it. He cupped his hand over her groin and looked at her in surprise.

She gasped, moving against his hand. "What?" It was breathy and soft.

He said, with wonder, "You're already wet."

"Yeah. I'm a big fan of the dirty talk."

"Obviously. You're the best friend I ever had."

And she laughed, loving him a little.

He thrust his fingers into her and kept her against the wall while he shoved her up the edge of pleasure. He didn't just give her an orgasm…nope. He forced her to one whether she wanted it or not. It was crude and almost too dirty. Jill was laughing and dying at the same time. That's what sex looked like when no one was looking for a relationship. She didn't think he was lying now. Nope. Prove it, she'd said.

He caught her hands and planted them above her head. His other hand played with her breasts like he meant business. He stroked them, plucked them, and put his teeth on them. She gasped, a little insane from it.

He said, "Why do you dress like you do?" Harsh, hoarse. She met his eyes.

"What?"

"You cover yourself up so no one looks. Why? You're fucking perfect."

Oh. She felt herself blush a little. And she charmed the hell out of him with it. He rolled one of those tits in his palm to watch her feel it. She was model beautiful, true, but it wasn't that. He'd never met a woman like her in his life. She was spark and flame and fire and fun. He wanted to be her fuck buddy like he'd probably never wanted anything else.

"I'm not. Really. I'm not."

"Whatever. I'm looking at you, Valentine. I'm seeing a lot of perfect." Chris skimmed the backs of his fingers over her taut belly. He fluttered his fingers against the creamy heat of her. He watched her eyes cross a little and laughed, "Yeah. Perfect."

"Obviously not for Greg."

"I told you that guy was a turd. What a stupid bastard. Thank god. Or you wouldn't be here with me."

Jill watched his face and couldn't think of any place else she'd rather be in that moment. How did he do that? Talk so simply and look at her like that? Like she was something to eat.

Chris put his tongue to one nipple and watched it crest, excited for him. He added, gruffly, "Thank god for Greg the stupid bastard."

She laughed and it ended on a gasp as he suckled her and played that hand between her legs almost gently. She shivered, moving against his hand that bound her to the wall. He shook his head, letting go of her nipple so her breast bounced a little.

"Not you. Not yet. Me."

"I thought this was my game."

"It's your game. But it's my move. So you wait."

Oh she liked that. She liked that a lot. She gasped a little as he thrust a finger into her. And he liked this, he thought, he liked her being wet and ready. He liked her passion. It was good to be with a woman who didn't wait for him to give her all the right moves.

Freight train, he'd said, he was that. But he was also unexpectedly gentle. He lowered his mouth and kissed her, giving her his tongue in a rhythm that rocked her even as he stroked her. He popped their mouths apart and watched her face.

She shivered from the intensity of it. "What now?" It was a whisper from her.

"Still me. You ready?"

"For?"

"This. All of it."

"Oh yeah. I'm ready."

"I'm a man of my word, Jill. Fair warning."

He dropped to his knees and threw her leg over his shoulder and put his mouth on her. It was so unexpected that she couldn't do anything but come apart where she stood. He wasn't a liar, she thought desperately, he ate pussy like he was born to do it.

He was tongue and teeth and madness. He licked her and lapped her and left her sweating. He knew what he was doing, no lie. He drove his fingers into her when she bowed and sucked her clit like he was trying to own it. When she started to collapse on her one shaky leg, he caught her around the hips and put her on the floor. But he didn't stop.

She drove her fingers into his hair and bucked against his face. Those ten foot legs of hers were over his shoulders and shaking like a leaf. He laughed against her a little and it felt like a vibrator inside her body. When she was close and making sounds like an animal, he flipped her over and jerked her up on all fours and went at her again from behind. His tongue was like a demon, thrusting and fucking her body like some kind of evil being. It wanted her to come screaming around it while he buried his face in the taste of her and made her take more of it.

She bucked, bucked, making sounds that had him so hard he was pretty sure his dick was going to fall off and land on the floor. He rose up and filled her full of his fingers, grabbing her hip to drive her back on his hand. Freight train was right, she thought desperately, as she hit the edge of the orgasm he was forcing on her and burst free of the other side.

Jesus, Chris thought madly, she was a wild and crazy thing. She wanted it like a guy, hot and hard and endless. She let go like a porn star, screaming, and slapping that perfect ass back against his hand while he drove his fingers into the heat of her. He'd never touched a girl like her before. One, never, ever one that wasn't even a ten but a twelve, and never one that made him pretty sure he was going to never get enough of her.

She came wet and hot around his hand, gasping, cursing and shoving against his questing digits like a thing possessed. He felt her body suck his fingers in and hold them there, spasming and making him crazy for her. He knew he was in trouble the second he'd touched her of course but he didn't care. Didn't give a rats ass about any of that. He didn't dwell in regret and he didn't worry about what came next. Ever.

He pulled his fingers free of her wet, hot sheath and looped an arm around her waist. He picked her up, still jerking and twitching, and carried her with one arm and her back to his front. He carried her to the bedroom. Which was little more than a mattress on the floor.

He tossed her on the bed and came down on top of her. She grabbed at him and yanked his mouth to her. They shared the taste of her between them like a heady thing. He held her down with a hand on her collarbone and drove his fingers into her again, faster, harder, deeper.

Jill scrambled her legs open wider, shaking and bowing. Her hand fisted around him and jerked, bringing a grunt from him that made her laugh. He was impossibly thick, almost scary thick. And she liked it. Loved it. And craved it.

She shoved him to his back on the mattress and put her mouth on him. He was nearly ridiculously big so she worked for each inch she won to get him in her mouth. No wonder he was so arrogant and cocky about his success with women. He had a porn star cock and it was nearly as beautiful as it was meaty and hungry for her. Mr. Cocky indeed.

He watched her go to town on his body. She was good at it, probably the best that had ever done it. She didn't try to take too much but she used tongue and lips and the wet of her mouth to make him insane. She put her teeth to him, just a little, and he nearly came in her mouth.

Delighted, he laughed, and pulled her mouth off him. "Not like that, Valentine."

"Why not?"

"Not yet." He threw her to her back on the bed and made her laugh. She opened her legs and he rose to his knees between them. He ran his hands down the inside of her thighs and thumbed the wet heat of her. She gasped, eyes flaring. He rubbed the head of himself against the creamy heat of her and shoved her legs open wider to watch himself do it.

She laughed a little, watching his face.

"What?"

"How do you do that?"

"What's that?" He dragged himself down her slit and she lost her train of thought and jerked toward him. He laughed now, hoarsely.

"Look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you're going to fuck me stupid."

"I am. I promised I'd rip you in half. You ready?"

"God yes."

He rolled off the bed and surprised the hell out of her. She blinked as he left the room. She heard the clock tick over the bed. And back he came. He climbed onto the bed with a condom in his hand.

Oh. Goodness. He was…a gentleman? Something. It touched her that he'd thought of it.

She said, "Should I be insulted?"

He rubbed himself over her body again and she gasped, shivering.

"Why? I'm a good boy."

"Me too. I'm not dirty, Chris."

He glanced at her face, surprised. "I didn't think you were…well you kinda are."

"I just mean..I'm clean."

"Ah. Yeah. Me too. This is so you don't get fat and pregnant. I can't fuck you fat and pregnant. Well I still would because I'm a good dude like that."

Jill laughed, loving him a little. "What a guy."

He slid the condom on and rubbed himself over her. Admittedly, it didn't have the same intensity as before but she appreciated the effort. He pushed a little into her body and brought her eyes flaring wide.

"Yeah. That's usually the first reaction." He was trembling but held himself still. He caught her hands and put them above her head, holding her down. "I'll take it easy."

She shivered, watching his face. She said, softly, "Don't."

"What?"

"Freight train. Remember?"

"You're not ready for me."

"Really?" She eyed his face, feeling the pump and thrill and killing roll of want there. He was nearly painfully good looking. Those eyes were all kinds of blue and green. "Try me."

"I'll hurt you." And he liked the idea of it. She saw that all over him. He wanted to hurt her. And she wanted it too.

She whispered, "Promises promises."

He let go of her wrists and grabbed her throat, thumb stroking the soft skin between chin and neck. "You are a dirty little thing, Jill Valentine."

"Yeah I am. Stop talking and fuck me."

She was the best friend he'd ever had.

He took her at her word. He drove himself into her so hard, so fast and deep, that it was just pain. It was really just pain for her. It ripped a scream from her mouth and a grunt from him. He slapped against her ass with a shivering, meaty sound. Her hand scrambled at him and tried to push him off and out of her without her even knowing it.

The second she realized she was shoving him away, she opened her legs wider and grabbed his ass instead, rolling him inside of her body. The pain blended on the pleasure and poised there, perfect and sinful. His face was half dark greed and half sorry he'd hurt her. It was a wonderful combination.

She rasped, "Freight train. Do it."

Chris dropped down on top of her, bracketed her head with his arms in a push up motion, and plowed himself into her. At first, it was all sharp and terrible pain. It raped her raw and had her screaming beneath him. She tried to push him off and he slapped her hands to the side and finally shoved them over head. And he took her at her word. He didn't stop.

Somewhere about the fourth thrust, the pain hit the pleasure center in her body and mashed. She rose to meet him, taking the thick meat of him into her body like a desperate thing. The wetness of her eased his way as she raced toward orgasm. He hammered her so hard it was like running ten miles at full speed. When she was close and screaming, he eased out and then eased back in, prolonging it for her. She ached, pulsing around him, her body wanted a good deep dicking, he thought objectively, but her brain was telling her it was too much.

So he eased the pace and pleased them both with that too.

He let go of her hands and they slid over his back, holding on to him. He rolled his face to her and kissed her, slow and deep. Her mouth sucked his tongue and her body sucked his dick. She had him from both ends and stole his soul with it.

Liar, his brain said, you're not looking for friends with benefits. You are so into this girl it's pathetic. What's next? You going to write poetry on the bathroom stall for her?

He eased back to look at her. She held his eyes as he plunged into her, rode out and back in again. He watched her face while he fucked her, steady and deep. He went all in, like he was known to do, he went all in with each thrust. She took him, every inch, and met him thrust for thrust. She was amazing and beautiful and fucked like a guy without coy smiles or flirtation. She was fucking perfect.

Chris felt her clenched around him, hard and fast and he increased the rhythm, driving her into the bed while she came. She came apart in his arms, bucking and sucking him into her body like a well paid whore. He came just from looking at her, watching her gasp and bow and feeling her hump and jerk around him. He forced her to hold his eyes while he came and while he did he hated the condom that stood between them. He wanted to see her eyes while he filled her up. It was the first time he'd ever felt that way before.

And he pictured her fat and pregnant. And he liked that too.

Shit, he thought, so it was gonna be like that for him apparently.

She gasped, twitching beneath him. He pumped once more into her and collapsed on top of her. She grunted, laughing a little.

They were both so soaked in sweat she thought they'd get stuck together that way.

He said, against her neck, while her body let her know how sore she was going to be, "You are my best friend in the world."

Jill laughed, letting her arms flop to the sides. "Same. Jesus, you weren't lying."

"I seldom do."

"I won't walk right for a week."

"That's the idea."

"How in the hell has no girl snapped you up yet?"

"I've been waiting for you, clearly."

She blinked and he leaned back, grinning at her. She rolled her eyes. He pulled out of her and she gasped, feeling the soreness in her belly and groin. It was good. It was really good. But it was going to ache like hell for days.

He went into the bathroom to get rid of the condom. It was interesting that she didn't like the condom. She always used them. Always with lovers. Why did she not like it with him? It was the dirty factor, true, and the dirty thoughts about feeling all that cock inside of her bare and hot…but what else? What was it?

He came back into the bedroom and leapt on the bed, bouncing down beside her. She rolled to face him. He lifted hand and tucked her sweaty hair behind her ear. His hand lingered and stroked her cheek.

She lifted a brow at him. "You getting mushy on me?"

"Nope. That's a negative on the sweet stuff, Valentine."

"Good. That would go against the rules."

"True."

They stayed that way for a long moment. Finally, Chris said, "I should go. The rooster crows early and demands we go to work with Captain Creep Ass."

"That's very true. He's got us doing that simulation shit again tomorrow too. What's the deal with that? What does he think we're going to be fighting? Drunks are seldom that good in a fight. Do we need to do karate to kick their asses?"

"Apparently. Fuck the karate stuff. Point, punch, shoot. That's my thing."

"You're all subtle and class, Red. Seriously. But you should stay here."

He liked the nick name. It made him feel funny in places. "Yeah?"

"Sure. Big bed, small girl..stay. It's cool."

"Sounds good to me, Jilly Bean. I'm lazy. And clearly my car is a garbled piece of shit that may explode at any moment."

Jill laughed and rose. "Shower?"

"Together? Is that against the rules?"

"Don't think so. Pretty sure the rules are flexible about showering."

"Right on."

They showered easily. And laughed. Her shower was very small and not really made for two people. He ended up falling out and taking the curtain with him. He was not a man given to grace, clearly. Point, punch, shoot was about as graceful as he got. She was still laughing when they changed the sweaty sheets on her bed and got in it.

They fell asleep facing each other. He slept on his back, arms cocked and hands up. She watched him, kinda crushing on him. And she slipped her hand into his to see. Even in sleep, he curled his around hers and held on.

Interested, she shifted closer. He opened one eye, smiled, and pulled her over. She curled against his side and wrapped her arm over his chest. She slid her leg over his and curled around his thigh. He liked that and smiled. She fell asleep with her ear over his heart.

The little broken window beside her bed pushed a cold breeze of them as they lay and told Chris, as he drifted into sleep holding her, that something was coming. He was just hoping it was going to be Jill Valentine...again and again.

…

Somewhere in the bowels of Raccoon City, evil had started to breed. It was, at first, something simple and curious. It was a thought that became a nightmare.

The man sitting at the computer had their pictures sitting side by side. He was rolling a paperweight in his palm and considering. The research and data was complete and interesting. It had them nearly neck and neck in terms of skill. The boy, of course, was better dedicated to the cause that he would drive them toward. The girl? She had a darkness in that was waiting for him to guide it toward the surface.

He would use her to destroy the boy. And use the data collected to serve the greater good. And it was time to start the ball rolling on the master plan.

And so Albert Wesker did, what Albert Wesker was known to do, he instituted an outbreak…and sentenced a city to death…with a single push of a button.


	2. Chapter 2

+Author's note:

Smut. Violence. And dead bodies. Plus bad jokes. It's what I do. And what does me, respectively. Good fun. Or total crappola, depending on your mood.

Slainte.

….

I: Jill Valentine

:::::::::::::TWO::::::::::::::

She should have known, before she'd even sat down, that she was going to sit down on a whoopee cushion. It was the entire nature of her relationship with him. He was jokes guy. She sat down in her chair, the sound of flatulence split the air, and Brad Vickers let out a giggle.

Jill wasn't sure how she felt about Vickers. He was a wienie. Worse than a wienie, he was a spaz. He panicked about everything. He panicked about being late, about being on time, about worrying about being late when he was on time. He was a mess. How had he gotten into STARS? It was insane.

He was a skinny guy with a sallow complexion and brown eyes that reminded her a hound dog. He always looked either sad or confused. It was odd that the man who'd hired them, digging through their myriad of skills and attributes, had hired such a coward.

The other guy in the room was Barry Burton. Burton was handsome and rough around the edges. He was the oldest of their crew and had a wife and a couple of rugrats to boot. Barry was a good dude. He was funny and sharp and clearly dedicated. If a little bit stuff shirt sometimes during missions. He was their weapons guy. You needed advice on guns or grenades, you went to Barry.

Brad was their pilot. He was good at that. Honestly. But Chris could have flown the damn plane or the chopper too. What did they need him for?

Joseph Frost was their maintenance supervisor. What did that mean? It meant if it was broke, Joe fixed it. He just fixed it. Like MacGuyer. Or Batman. He was something. He was tall, skinny, and had the longest nose on the team. Which is why they called him Pinocchio. Or, affectionately, the Nose for News as he was also a terrible gossip.

Jill was the breaking and entering specialist and also known for her rear defense. She was pretty good with a gun but hell on wheels with hand to hand. She got them in, got them out, and opened anything along the way. She was sneaky, quick, and moved like a shadow.

Chris, clearly, was the point man. The door needed kicked in, he kicked it in. He was aces with a gun. She'd never seen anyone better. Not once. Well maybe once. She'd gone down to watch the rookies training once during their interviews to join the RPD. There was one kid that didn't just hit it, he hit three times in the same damn hole. Clearly he was getting the job.

Chris was stoic to the point of being called anything from a stick in the mud to being ribbed constantly about being as boring as a robot. But Jill liked it. She liked his shift from professional to personal too. He was her best friend. And was always doing stupid shit to make her laugh.

On this particular day, they were being trained on computer simulations. Totally boring shit. It consisted of using the crotchety old equipment in the office to pretend to do the stuff and really just play Pong. Or Tetris.

Jill had mistakenly gone to the bathroom and come back to find out she'd been whoopied…again. Of course.

She gave Chris bland eyes from across the desk.

He coughed and sipped his coffee.

She said, "Red, I swear to god. If I see this thing under my ass one more time…I'm gonna cram it up yours."

"I didn't do it."

"You liar. You're a terrible liar."

"I have my moments."

Brad, watching the television close to them, said, "You guys seeing this shit? What's the deal man?"

Chris glanced over, tossing the little hackey sack in his hand up and down. "What?"

"People dying like flies. They're saying eaten or something. Gross."

"Cannibalism in Raccoon. Awesome."

Jill leaned forward and said, softly, "It's probably Wesker eating them."

Chris snorted. "No doubt. Creep."

They were trying to find Wesker less creepy. They were. But his intensity was frightening. He was impressive on the mat and clearly knew his shit about tactics. He kept them on their toes and didn't let them slack off. The only reason they were goofing off today was that he was out of town for the day to Wombat Junction interviewing candidates for the police force with Chief Irons. They respected him, you couldn't NOT respect him, he was the most stand up person you could ever meet. He didn't lie, didn't bullshit, and didn't bother to pretend if he didn't like you. He didn't like Brad…so why was he still here!? It was a mystery. Jill wasn't a hundred percent sure that he actually LIKED anyone. Truth be told.

He was an odd man. His dedication to his team was unquestionable though. He wouldn't let them fail, she was sure of that. She just wasn't sure why he had to be so creepy.

Joe was trying to finish the simulation. The computer kept dropping dead on him. "This thing is a piece of shit dude."

"Seriously."

"I'd like to see Umbrella drop some money on it. Instead of making fountains that squirt water out of a mermaid's twat."

Chris chuckled. "Speak for yourself. I'd pay good money to see that."

Jill said, "You'd pay good money to see anybody's twat."

Brad guffawed. Barry shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"It's my prerogative for having a penis."

"Pfft."

Barry queried, "Do mermaids have twats?"

Chris said, "They must. That's the tuna reference right? It comes from mermaid twats."

Jill thought: life working with men. One half sexual harassment, one half sexism. She went about trying to get the programming on her computer to run the simulation. Admittedly, it was a piece of shit.

Brad was still watching the news. "Dude! This guy has no FACE. That's sick."

Chris had started to take a nap in his seat. Jill waited for the right opportunity and kicked his chair. He spiraled his arms and down he went, clattering to the floor and bringing the laughter with him. He gave her a look from the floor and she twitched her lips.

"It's like that huh?"

"Oh yeah."

"Ok Valentine. Game on."

They set about trying to out prank each other. The whoopie cushion was everywhere. She couldn't escape it. He froze her stapler. She put super glue on his phone. The next time she opened her drawer, it burst with confetti and scared the shit out of her. She put peanut butter in his shoes. He emptied her gas tank on her bike and she had to walk home. She stole his car battery. He wrote her phone number on the bathroom stall in the men's room of the RPD. She couldn't shake the phone calls for weeks. She changed his screen saver on his computer to gay porn.

He was so amused, while everyone laughed, that he said, "Keeping it."

She loved him a little.

The first date she went on after Greg, he showed up and crashed it. He hung out, embarrassed her date, and ruined it. She sat there after the date had flown the coop and looked at him.

"Why?"

"Why not? Besides, that dude? Turd."

She laughed and they ate pizza.

He had a date with Cindy from the bar. Jill showed up and did karaoke. She made out at the table with some guy. Cindy was amused. Chris was…kinda. He was also kinda jealous. But this went against the rules so he said nothing.

He said, "Why?"

"Why not?"

She put his picture on all the RPD practice targets. Barry blasted the shit out of his face. Chris said, "Really?"

Barry was grinning, "RIP Red."

Chris had a singing telegram show up while they were training. It sang a horrible song to her about her tits and her blue eyes. In front of Wesker. In front of Albert Wesker.

Everyone laughed. Except for her of course. And Wesker.

Wesker never laughed. He was stoic to the point of being scary. He smiled all the time, sure, but it was…odd. He was a great leader. Hands down, he knew his shit. He was commanding and supportive and encouraging. He was hell on wheels at hand to hand combat.

One day, he finally went up against Jill.

Everyone from Bravo to Alpha came in to see it. It was well known that Jill was the master of the mat. She kicked everyone's ass on it. Chris stuck his fingers in his mouth to whistle for her. She laughed.

Wesker circled her, in full uniform of course. Jill was wearing her grey RPD sweats. She had two stubby ponytails and a headband on. Wesker stopped and beckoned.

She moved, snake quick. They slapped shins, grabbed forearms, and she spun left. She rolled his shoulder, rotated his arm, and cocked it over her shoulder. Her foot came down, drove into his knee, and put her hip into him. She tossed him.

There was cheering from around the room.

Wesker rolled through it and was on his feet…smiling.

Jill smiled back.

She rushed him again and he spun right, hooked arms with her, rolled her over his back and flipped. She would have gone down on her face but she hooked up under him, hit one knee, and swept her leg back to take his out from under him. He answered it by rolling across her back and leveraging both her arms up behind her shoulders.

There was booing now. Jill chuckled and threw a reverse head butt at him. He feinted back and she broke the hold, spinning out and down. She foot swept him again and grabbed his arm, rolling back and putting her feet into his stomach.

She flipped him up and out. He did a fancy spin in the air and landed in a crouch. And apparently he'd had enough playing around. He rushed her now and drove her back with a series of short arm jabs, punches, and a series of kicks. She pivoted, blocked, and spun a second ahead but kept on the defensive.

Jill finally went into a double back flip and had the room roaring with delight. She landed, went into a cartwheel, and came out in a reverse roundhouse. He blocked, caught her leg, and dropped an elbow into her thigh. She relented, avoiding the blow but losing her feet.

She went down, came up in an uppercut, and he blocked it. He jerked her arm, delivered two insulting slaps to her face, and threw her away kicking her in the ass as she went. More booing and Jill could feel the fire of embarrassment. The bastard.

She'd never live it down if she lost here. She glanced at Chris who winked at her. Amused, she faced her Captain.

"Is that all, Jill? Surely not."

Jill rushed him. She went into a front tuck, spun low, swept his feet out and buffalo kicked him from one hand. He went over onto his back. She straddled him, rolled him over and put him on his face. She jerked his arm up behind his back.

The stomping of feet and cheering was loud in the gymnasium. Really loud. Apparently beating up your boss was popular in Raccoon City.

Wesker smiled from the floor. How easy, he thought with amusement, to lead the rats to the feeder bar and give them what they wanted. Earning their respect and trust came at so little a cost for what would come next. To follow him, they had to trust him. Letting Jill Valentine win was an easy loss for him to absorb. If they underestimated him, he would be able to destroy them so easily.

He said, "I concede."

And the room went wild.

Jill was slapped on the back and punched in the arm. She laughed, loving the attention. Who was the little wall flower now, she mused? The girl no one had paid attention to all her life was getting it all now. It felt good and rewarding.

She shook hands with Wesker. And again, she felt him study her. She felt like she'd let him learn her somehow. And she was both impressed with the intelligence on his face and a little uneasy.

She went to shower off. And her soap was hanging from the ceiling fan in the locker room.

She twisted her lips to the side and chortled.

She cut holes in all of Chris' RPD sweats. He came out to practice one day with a giant hole in his crotch. At least he was wearing underwear, she mused. Or the whole station would know all about Mr. Cocky. He'd probably like that though, the dirty pervert. He wasn't embarrassed at all by it. He winked at her and had her laughing.

He was a terrible lecher. And she kinda loved him.

Ok she really loved him. He was her best friend. The brightest spot in a bad day. He kept her laughing.

She was sitting on the bleachers one day and a couple of the female officers sat down with her. The tallest one, Heather, was pretty and model slim. She said, no bullshit, "You mind if I ask him out?"

And Jill said, "Nope."

"Cool."

She kinda did. Which bothered her.

She got evicted one day. Which sucked. And he let her move in. No questions asked. She took over his second bedroom in the tiny house he was renting. It was set up for Claire obviously when she was home from school.

"This ok?"

"Yep. She's never here anyway. Breezes in and breezes out. You gonna pay half the rent?"

"Of course."

"It's yours."

She was a total mess to live with. But he tolerated it. He was bad, Jill was awful. She dropped clothes everywhere. She never cared. She didn't rinse the sink after she brushed her teeth. Somewhere in the great beyond, his mother was dying. She was disorganized on a good day and a right mess on a bad one. She was always losing her keys. He found them in the freezer and once in the toilet.

He held them up to her with the tongs from the barbecue pit.

"What?"

"Really?"

"I dropped them I guess shaving my legs this morning."

"Why were you holding them when shaving?"

"So I didn't lose them."

"…how'd that work out for you?"

"Clearly I had to walk to work."

Chris snorted and dropped the keys in soapy water to disinfect them. He was the only person that cleaned. Ever. She was lazy and sloppy and didn't care. She left dishes in the sink soaking in water. She never made her bed. The army guy in him was appalled.

She fixed stuff like a champ though. Nothing stayed broke with Jill Valentine around. She was Mrs. Fix it. Leaks, cracks, lumps and bumps she was a wizard with a toolbox. She taught him to change his oil and his tire. He taught her how to tackle and bake a cake.

She kept buying girly shit and leaving it places though. He came in the bathroom one day to her bras hanging over the shower door. It was the pink one with the frills that set him off.

He came out of the bathroom with it.

She glanced up, painting her toe nails. "What?"

"What's this?"

"…that is a brassiere Christopher. It's meant to contain your breasts."

"Smartass. Seriously. When do you wear stuff like this?"

"…I feel like I'm missing something here. I wear it under my clothes. Obviously."

"No. You don't wear girly stuff Jill. You have three bras and they are all sports bras. What's this for?"

"Oh. OH. That's my date night bra. I have a date tonight." She went back to painting her toe nails.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Kevin Ryman? You know him. He's taking me out."

"Oh." Hmm. He thought about that for a minute. It was interesting that he didn't like it. Jill was his dude with tits friend. They'd only fucked around that one time and she hadn't come running back for more. So he was figuring there was somebody else but she was always with him too. So he just figured she wasn't dating.

Jill glanced up at him. "Is he a turd?"

"Nah. He's ok. Stupid hair though. Girly."

"Pfft. You always say that."

"You always date skinny girls with stupid hair. It's your thing."

"My thing?"

"Yeah. You know…floofy guys."

"What is "floofy"?"

"Pretty boys. It's your thing."

He carried the bra back into the bathroom and hung it back up. It was lacy and clearly a push up bra. He didn't like it. But he did. He did like it. He didn't like Kevin Ryman seeing her in it though.

Jill came down the hallway. "Expound on pretty boys."

"You know. The type that have hair like Ryman. And play guitar. And talk fancy. It's your thing."

"…I don't have a thing, Red. Seriously?"

"You do. A type. You always date the same type. It's your thing." He went into his bedroom to gather up his laundry.

"I don't. I really don't."

"Sure, Jilly Bean. If you say so. I'm surprised you don't like Wesker. He's your type."

"Now you're just being mean. How is that even true?"

"He's fancy. And smart. And probably went to an Ivy League school or something. You like to date guys that come from or have money usually. Or the alternative to that is you date ones that are in a rock band and look like Axel Rose. It's your thing. I bet you'd date some kid with a roman number after his name. John Washington the fourth. Or something. You like preppy, girly, and pretty. It's your thing."

"….I feel vaguely insulted."

"Don't. It's your thing."

"What's your thing then?"

"You tell me."

"More boobs than brains."

He lifted a brow at her and shrugged. "Male prerogative. Depends on what I'm looking for in you. You click on multiple levels, we're going out. You don't? I'll let you take a ride on the freight train anyway. I'm a generous man."

"Lecher."

Chris chuckled and went down to the laundry room in the basement to wash clothes. He didn't want her dating. It was a hard pill to swallow. And went against the rules. He was into her, always had been. She was the coolest chic he'd ever met.

He started the washer and changed loads into the dryer. The basement was musty and smelled like it might be leaking somewhere. He'd have Jill come down and find the problem later.

He came back upstairs to find her coming out of her bedroom. And she was in date mode, clearly. He stopped and had to adjust his brain from his dick.

She was gorgeous. She was always gorgeous. But she was dread dead dressed up. She was in some little blue thing that might have been a dress if it didn't look like underwear. Strapless, tight, and silky looking. She had on little knee high boots with it and her hair was sleek around her face. She was smearing on eyeliner.

She glanced at him. "Good?"

He spun her around and put her against the wall of the bathroom. She made some sound and he speared his tongue into her mouth. She gasped and opened for him. He tilted her head back, driving his tongue into her mouth until she was breathless.

Freight train, she thought desperately, good lord.

He hooked an arm around her waist and threw her on the sink. She gasped, knocking bottles and toothpaste around. His hands were under her skirt and pulling her panties off. She kicked her legs, fast and laughing.

She tried to find something to grab onto as he filled her full of his driving fingers. She made little mewling cries and grabbed his shoulders. He sent her over the edge humping and gasping. He pulled her over his shoulder and carried her out of the bathroom. He gave her a hard smack on the ass and stole her breath before he dumped her on the couch in the living room. She scrambled her legs open.

Chris ripped open the condom in his hand, slipped it on, and pushed into her. She screamed, a little madly, and bucked toward him. Jesus, he thought, she was all he'd thought about for weeks now. That desperate fucking of hers. It was his poltergeist. He kept picturing eating her out under the desk at work. It was driving him insane.

He wasn't as hard this time. Not like the first time. He was smoother now and gentler. He wanted her but he didn't want to hurt her. He grabbed her hips under that little excuse for a dress and angled her up to him.

Oh, she thought desperately, it was different this time. He rolled in her, he rolled inside of her. The big was still something to hold inside of her but it was smoother, wetter, and deeper. He didn't hurt her, he filled her up. She balled her fists in his sweatshirt and held on to him. He rolled in, he rolled out and she was nearly insane from it. He started throwing it down to her faster and harder. She was open and ready for him. Her body milked him, begging for more.

She felt him thumb the apex of her body and she went around him, gasping, and jerking. He hooked a hand around the back of her neck and dragged her up to his mouth. They kissed, wet, tongues and sucking. She pulled him down, pushed him over, and climbed onto his lap. He wanted to warn her about this angle and the pain of it but she didn't look like she was in pain. She sunk down on him and blew the top of his head off.

Jill fucked like she fought, all skill and movement. She rode fast and hard and crazy on him. He didn't last long enough to give a shit and grunted, shoving her down on him. She grabbed his face to kiss him until he couldn't breathe.

He laughed, breathless.

She fell to the side, legs splayed. He sat on the couch and laughed. Jill echoed it.

"What the fuck?"

"Sorry. It's the dress, kid. The dress did it. I was already half up your ass this morning in that nightgown you weren't really wearing."

"You not getting any?"

"Nope."

"Why didn't you just say something?"

He glanced at her. "Is that part of the rules?"

"It's part of the deal, Red. I'm not in a relationship. Come get some."

"Yeah?"

"Sure."

"Cool." He rose and pulled up his pants.

She twisted her lips to the side and sat up. "You usually run around the house without underwear on, big guy?"

"Sometimes. Who cares? I'm at home."

He left the living room. She sat there, shivering. And she was pretty sure she was going to spend the rest of the night thinking about him without anything on under those three hundred year old sweats. Soft. They were soft and smooth. Her body told her that he was NOT soft and smooth.

It ached in that way she liked.

She went on her date. She came home around midnight. He was playing Playstation in the living room. She glanced at the screen.

"What is this?"

"Some zombie shit. It sucks. The acting is terrible. And the controls are clunky."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Utter crap. But it's funny. And you get to blow off heads. So that rules. Date go good?"

"Nah. Just friends. He's nice. Just not my type."

"Oh. Skinny and girly?"

"Kiss ass, Redfield."

She went down the hallway. He chuckled and went back to playing the game. Stupid game. But killing zombies was a blast. Who believed in that kind of stupid shit though? Zombies. Ridiculous.

Chris was blasting his way through a hoard of the undead when he saw movement in the hallway. He glanced up, glanced back at the game, "You want some dinner? I had some chicken wings. There's some left in the fridge."

"Not what I'm hungry for."

He glanced over. And his brain fell out his ass.

She was leaning on the wall…stark naked. The hallway light was soft and put shadows in all the right and wrong places. She was tits and ass and torture, clearly. He hadn't even set down the controller.

She said, "You hungry?"

"Starving."

"Come get your chow on, big guy."

And he laughed. He laughed so hard. He loved her. It was official. He loved her. Damnit.

He was still holding the controller. What the fuck for? He tossed the controller and chased her laughing down the hallway.

The next day at work was a mess. Somebody had set off a bomb in the minimart on the corner of Johnson Avenue. They had to go in and clean up the mess. Total nutso disaster. Three dead and multiple injuries. It was the third such bombing in as many weeks.

Tired and dirty, they came home from work and fell onto the couch to sleep. She woke him up on top of him. He laughed and threw her to her back on the floor. They spent the next twenty minutes getting even dirtier. It was utterly disgusting and dirty. She kinda loved him.

The whoopie cushion reappeared. It cropped up during a meeting with both teams and Chief Irons. She moved to get a cup of water while Irons went over slides from the recent cannibal murders that were popping up around the city. She was looking at the reports from the coroner. She sat down.

The whoopie cushion let out a fart so loud in the quiet room that it was almost like a shot. Irons stopped talking. Wesker was standing there with his arms crossed. Someone laughed. Jill was frozen still, horrified.

She hired an actor from the local reparatory theater to pop into the cafeteria on lunch. She started yelling about the crabs he'd given her. It was twice as funny to her as he was clearly, clearly, the master of safe sex. The girl was an A-class actor. She stormed out of the cafeteria and the whole room was a riot of laughter.

He saluted her with his water bottle. She kinda loved him.

He paid a mariachi band to follow he around for an entire day. They followed her wherever she went. They wouldn't leave. They were even there during a meeting with Wesker. Horrified, she said, "I'm sorry, sir."

Wesker just smiled. Apparently…even he could be amused.

They went out on patrol to start canvasing potential locations for the cannibals to be hiding. Chris picked up his binoculars to scan the length of the forest from where they stood. It was a bad idea to go traipsing around the forest near the Arklay Mountains. Wolves weren't uncommon in there and the occasional bear as well.

The mountain range was craggy and beautiful, admittedly. It streaked across the sky in jagged fingers capped with snow. A rich tapestry of creation covered from countryside to forest, offering the view the ability to bird and bug watch or enjoy the sights of god's gift from sky to soil. But if the cannibals were in there hiding, they weren't coming out any time soon. And they needed more than a handful of people searching for them.

Barry said, "We should do a search at least along the outer perimeter. If they are hiding, they won't be far from town. They couldn't go too far in and be able to get back out unnoticed otherwise."

Chris nodded, "They're close by. No lie there. But where?"

He lowered the binoculars. Brad let out a chuckle. Barry snickered. Chris looked at their faces. "What?"

She'd covered his binoculars in something black and sticky. He had raccoon eyes. In Raccoon City. Lord.

He high fived her over hamburgers at dinner.

He went out with Cindy again. She stayed home and played the zombie game. It was really stupid, she mused, shit was on fire in this game. Literally. And the skinny little character she was playing was just running through streets and stuff grabbing ammo.

She yelled, "Hey hey hey! Hey! There's a truck here. A TRUCK. Why can't I get on the truck and drive out of the city? What the fuck."

Chris came home early from his date.

"No luck?"

"No interest. She's nice. But she's too dumb."

"Chris!"

"What?"

"That's my friend!"

"Oh shit. Sorry." He sat down on the floor next to her. She was barreling through some kind of gunshop covered in blood.

"Oh hey! Sweet ass. You beat the hoard huh? By the bus?"

"Yep. Cake. Grenade."

"Nice."

"Yep."

She reached a point where the crows started diving at her in the game. "What's this shit!?"

"I know. Annoying."

She tossed down the controller, pissed. She settled back against him on the floor. She put her head on his shoulder. He curled an arm over hers.

"Sorry, Valentine. It appears the day is not saved."

"I'd save the day. What kind of idiot runs around the streets while the city burns?"

"The type who's skinny with girl hair."

"Clearly."

"No offense but if I come up on a dead body lying on the ground and it gets UP. I'd be running."

"Not me."

"Point, punch, shoot?"

"You got it, sweetcheeks."

"What's wrong with dumb? You telling me every girl you throw that huge dick down to is a road scholar?"

Chris chuckled. "No. But I need something better than spending an hour and a half talking about shopping."

"Oy. I like Cindy too. She's not usually like that."

Oh. OH. It clicked. Cindy had turned him off on purpose. Why? She looked at his face. It was a great fucking face. Maybe she didn't like the personality? Doubtful. Chris was funny and articulate, clearly intelligent, and a gentleman. What wasn't to like? A mystery.

They sat in quiet for a little while. She rubbed his belly. He rubbed her arm. They fell asleep siting there. They woke up curled up together on the floor. She put her hands in his pants and brought him awake to fuck her.

They fell back asleep sweaty and satisfied.

Wesker sent them to patrol the forest. They trudged through it in the mud and the muck. It was rainy and humid and gross. Spring had given way to the beginning of an ugly summer. Clearly. The rain came and stayed for a week straight.

No bikes. No football. No fun.

They laid on the floor in the living room throwing the hackie sack up and taking turns catching it. Chris said, "Date night?"

"Nah. Some dude asked me out last week. Boring."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yeah."

"What was the problem?"

"He was all about trying to get in my pants, man. I like aggressive to a point but come on. Get your hand out of my pants and go away."

"You want me to kick his ass?"

Jill laughed and rolled her head. They were lying side by side sorta but upside down. Their heads were side by side on the floor. She kissed his cheek. "No, big softie. I'll be just fine."

He caught her face and the hackie sack plopped onto her belly.

"You made me miss."

"You should take me outside and horsewhip me."

"I should. That games been going on for like forty five minutes."

He studied her in the muted gray lighting from outside. Thunder rumbled quietly and the rain was soft and quiet on the rooftop. The kitchen was dripping somewhere and they had a bucket under the drip on the floor. It plopped softly.

Her eyes lilted at the corners and made her face. Really. She had sleek, strong brows over a little pert nose. She had just a suggestion of a cleft in her chin. She was strong featured with high cheekbones. Those big eyes though. That was the kicker.

She studied him as well. She could see the fine hairs on his cheeks this close. If he didn't shave daily, he was sporting a five o'clock shadow by 8 am. And a full on beard in a week and a half. His hair was so black when you were close to him. But the hints of red were there mixed in. She could look at him all day. He had a set of heavy eyebrows that complimented those gorgeous eyes. In the soggy lighting, they were a rich dark gray. The heavy handed blade of his nose was a strong tie to the Lakota blood on his Dad's side. He was all strong angles and sharp lines. He had a jaw made to take a fist..or fuck you raw…respectively.

She shifted a little where she laid, getting a little excited.

He lifted a brow at her. "You gotta pee or what?"

"Not exactly," And she laughed. "I'm worried about tomorrow."

"Why?"

"It's our first real mission. We've done some stuff. Yeah. But they're sending us up the mountain tomorrow. It's going to be rough. No more hand holding. Just…go get it done. And in the pouring rain no less."

"It'll be lame, Jill. Honestly. I hiked all over hell and back in the service. It's mostly a lot of gear and a lot of walking. Nothing ever really happens. I threw down in a fight maybe three times the whole time I was in it. We'll probably do this job for a hundred years and it won't be exciting. What kind of shit happens in a place called Raccoon City? Rat infestation?"

Jill snickered.

"Critters out of control! Call for the STARS!"

Jill watched his face while he talked. She kinda loved watching his face. His teeth were fucking perfect in that dirty mouth of his.

"Oh my god! They ran out of soap at the Wash 'N Go! Someone bring in the National Guard!"

"You're so dumb."

"Cheese and rice, the Apple Inn is over run with bedbugs! Yikes!"

Cheese and rice. He was always saying stuff like that. And calling her Jilly Bean. Which was stupid and she loved it.

"Something could happen."

"What? Honestly? Bears? I can handle a bear."

And now she laughed, watching his face. "Oh. This should be good. How do you handle a bear?"

"Get up."

They got to their feet. Chris rolled his shoulders. Jill rolled hers. "Ok. I'm the bear. Grab me."

"….because I would so often GRAB a bear. Why am I grabbing a bear?"

"Grab me. Come on. Do it."

"No way. You'll hurt me."

"Pfft. I've never hurt a woman in my life."

"Tell that to my hoohah, big guy. It would beg to differ."

He looked at her, considering. And glanced at her in that tiny little shirt she was wearing. She wasn't wearing a bra. Obviously. And her nipples told him she was happy thinking about her hoohah and him joining forces.

"Just attack me, Jill. And grab me like a bear."

She shrugged and moved to grab him. He grabbed her by the front of her shirt and jerked her against him. She gasped and leapt. Her legs wrapped around him. He carried her into the bedroom and threw her on the bed.

"That's how you fight a bear?" And she was laughing.

"If the bear had your ass, probably. You want to watch tv?"

"Are you kidding? Take off your pants."

"You're my best friend."

Jill laughed and he threw off his clothes. She watched him hobble around to lose a sock and thought, not for the first time, how cute that ass of his was. He sorta fell over and she laughed again.

"You're all left feet, Red. Seriously."

"I tend to be more graceful when I'm not rock hard and looking to mount you like a prize pony."

Jill wiggled out of her panties and left on the little undershirt she was wearing. He finally got his sock off and turned to say something. And she had one hand on herself getting down.

He blinked, blinked again, and said, "You are the hottest woman in the world."

She laughed, breathily. What was worse? He kept standing there watching her. She gasped, shivering, and worked herself watching him.

Cheese and rice, he thought, how was he supposed to do this thing here with her? He was kinda obsessed with her. It was like being fifteen and getting on a girl for the first time. He dug it. But he was pretty sure it was breaking the rules to do it.

What the fuck, he thought, who gave a shit?

Jill watched his face. He was something, she mused desperately as she pushed herself toward her own release, no bullshit. Just standing there watching her with those hot, hot eyes. Lord. She started to pull her hand back and he said, "No. Keep going. Get yourself all wet and slick. Make yourself come. I'm gonna put my mouth on you when you're soaking wet and taste you."

Holy hell. That worked. She was done. She came, bucking and gasping.

And he was a man of his word. He put his hands on her breasts under the shirt she was wearing and played with her while he licked her. She hadn't even stopped coming yet when he started. It was insane.

He was the most hands on guy she'd ever been with. He was all touch and drive. And that tongue! It was a wizard. It cast a spell on her and left her jerking and dying. He didn't just go down, he went down like he was kicking in doors and blowing shit up. Chris Redfield only knew one way to go and he did it like a porn star.

He held her hips and buried his face against her, rolling in her and driving her closer to the edge. He lifted his head to look at her, "You wanna get fucked?"

God almighty. He had the filthiest mouth on earth. She nodded, half insane for him.

He got the condom.

She was so wet it felt amazing for him to mount her. He filled her so full she wanted to come apart screaming from it. He anchored her to the bed and rode her hard. Her socks knocked against his ass as he drilled her. Her jerked her little shirt over her head and it trapped her arms behind her head. He set his teeth to her and savaged the hell out of her breasts.

She was hoarse and hadn't remembered screaming his name but she must have because she came apart doing it.

She was the sexiest woman alive, hands down. He was crazy about her. Nuts. In it. Lost. He wanted to fuck her raw and leave her upside down pretty much 24/7. He loved her laugh and her stupid pranks. He loved her.

A cool breeze blew across them from the open window.

What had his Dad said? The wind was bringing something?

That was it. He thought as she rolled and came above him. Her hands slid over his slick chest and stopped. She lifted and lowered herself on his body like a wild thing. He grabbed her throat and pulled her down to kiss him. She was it for him.

He was so into her it was probably stupid. But there it was.

Jill gasped and dug her nails into his chest. He sucked air between his teeth and hissed. They rolled again and she was on all fours. He bit her back and fucked her so hard it had to hurt. It had to. But she didn't do anything but buck back against him and beg for more.

He didn't think she could get any hotter. She burned everything she touched. She was the hottest thing alive. He watched himself fucking her in the mirror beyond the bed. Her little bubble butt slapping back against his groin. He grabbed her hair and turned her head to see it.

She gasped, grunted, and laughed. "Jesus that's dirty."

"…christ. You're beautiful." And she was. She so was. Slick and wet and with that little white undershirt half hanging off her. She had the face of a Grecian goddess and the body of a playboy bunny. She was curvy hips and curvy butt and sex. She was a fucking fifteen not a twelve. He watched her face in the mirror while he went in and out of her.

Her mouth was open, her eyes glazed, she had a tangle of hair in her eyes. But she held his gaze in that mirror. And stole his fucking breath with it.

She watched the muscles in his stomach clench and flex. His arms did the same as he pulled her back and forth on his body. She wanted something. Something. And didn't know what.

He lifted his hand and brought it down on her ass. The smack was loud and echoing in the quiet room. And she mewled as it rang up her spine. Ok, she thought, that was it. She was done. She came apart around him shoving against him so hard she nearly knocked him off her.

His hands curled under her and drew her up against his front, playing with her breasts. He turned her face and kissed her, tongue and slick want. She reached a hand around him and drove her nails into his ass. He curved one hand down and over her groin, spreading it over her where he was buried in her body. He flicked her with his fingers and felt himself go in and out of her while she came, spasming and gasping into his mouth. He went after her, grunting, cursing a little.

They shuddered together, stuck with sweat. She started to come down from the high and say something witty and sexy or funny. He grabbed a handful of her hair and turned her mouth back to him. And he didn't just kiss her, she thought wildly, he raped her mouth. It was wet and very deep and very possessive. He kept that hand on her groin, holding her against him and keeping himself inside her while he finished coming.

When he let go of her hair, she gasped, shivering. He slid his hand over her slick chest and palmed one breast, rolling it. And then his hand splayed on her chest and stayed there. She went very still against him. He was feeling her heart hammer in her chest.

She opened her eyes. And he was looking at her.

He was always looking at her so it wasn't that. It wasn't. It was what was on his face. They were both panting and slick, hot and used up. In the mirror, she looked small and girly next to him. He wasn't big, not by any means, but he had the build for it. His shoulders could carry more muscle if he wanted. And he was clearly trying to get there. He was tall, which made her feel small and feminine, but it wasn't that either. It was his eyes. They kept looking at her mouth.

He'd kissed her plenty. Why was now different, she thought? And then she felt it. She felt him lower his head and kiss her. His arm shifted off her groin and around her waist. The one on her chest slid up into her hair. And he rolled her. He rolled her around.

She made some sound tunneled her fingers into his hair. His arms wrapped around her and slid down her back to her butt. He pulled her against him on their knees on the bed. Oh, she thought, oh oh oh. Like that night at the bar. Like now. Oh.

Bad.

But good.

Kissing wasn't against the rules, she thought desperately, but maybe it should have been. He kissed her like he'd fill her up and burst her open with it. She leaned back, holding his face. He darted his eyes back and forth over her. She whispered, "Jesus, Chris."

And he kissed her again. Eyes open. Eye open and held on hers.

Oh, she thought again, oh oh oh.

He let her go and she fell back on the bed, panting.

The rain was still hitting the roof softly and steadily. She looked at him on his knees above her. This was a flag on the play, clearly, in violation of the agreement. Nothing good could come from it.

He crawled toward her and she opened her legs for him. Good or bad, she thought, who would say no to that face of his? He collapsed on top of her and put his ear on her chest. She wrapped her legs around him and her hands settled in his hair.

They panted, softly, and deeply. The breeze blew across the bed and tickled their sweat slick skin. She stroked his hair, staring at the ceiling.

He wasn't her type. He wasn't. He wasn't wrong about the pretty boy thing. It was usually her type. Chris was hot, hands down, hot and tall and pretty close to getting ripped out. He was gorgeous and that coppery skin of his looked amazing next to the milk paleness of hers. But he wasn't her usual kettle of fish.

What was it about him?

He licked her breast and she shivered. Well there was THAT. Freight train fucking was a big part of it. But it was just him. He laughed. He was guileless and loving. And real. She was crushing on him pretty hard. But it wasn't anything really concerning.

Until five minutes ago. Now she was crushing on him pretty bad and it was a little concerning. Because she liked him in her life. A lot. And she was pretty sure getting involved as a bad idea.

She looked at him in the mirror. She touched his sweaty spine, she slid her hand over one of those biceps. Not even flexed and they were hard. He was big on lifting, trying to put on muscle. She wondered what he'd look like if he ever did.

He lifted his head and looked at her. "I think my dick fell off."

And she laughed. "Seriously?"

"Oh yeah. You're a goddess. You fuck like a porn star. I'm pretty much hard for you like…" He seemed to consider it, "Like six days a week."

"What's the seventh day?"

"That's the day of rest."

She laughed and he leaned up and kissed her.

Oh.

But he was grinning.

"Food?"

Jill snorted. "Men. Dicks and bellys."

"True story. Pasta?"

"Why not?"

"Cool." He rolled off her and she laid there, staring at the ceiling. She was over thinking it. He wasn't doing anything but being good in bed. He was, hands down, the best she'd ever had. He just got it. He knew what she wanted and where to give it and how hard. That spanking? Jesus. He was so dirty. So few guys wanted to get dirty with her. Too many of them trying to be the man and miss the point of a good sweaty romp in the sheets.

They ate pasta naked in bed. She turned on the tv and they watched reruns of In the Heat of the Night. She set aside her pasta bowl and shifted over. He glanced at her, pulled her arm, and put her in front of him. She wrapped his arms around her and he looped one leg over hers and settled it between her legs.

She said, "This show is stupid. It's all bad acting."

"Seriously. What else is on?"

They ended up watching the news. He wondered if she was aware that she was rubbing his thigh absently. She just liked the springy hair there.

She wondered if he was aware he kept kissing her neck while he talked to her. She was. She liked it. She thought it was probably more like boyfriend shit. But she liked it.

She said, "You believe this shit with the cannibals? Where are they hiding?"

"I have no clue. Seriously. We've looked everywhere."

"You think they're in the mountains?"

"Honestly? No. It's too far out. No way to snatch and grab that far out."

"True."

"Wish those fuckers with the bombs would show up though."

"I hear you. Last time? That shop by the mall? Awful."

"Yeah it was pretty fucking bad."

The phone rang and surprised them both. Chris didn't let go of her but grabbed it from the nightstand. "Yo."

She rolled her face a little against the soft hair that played over his nipples. She nipped one and he gave her those eyes she loved. She could feel him hard and ready against her back now. She gave him wide eyes.

He laughed silently and shook his head. Her hand slid down and wrapped around him behind her back. She stroked him, pleasing them both.

"Yeah. Yeah? You bet. Let me know."

He hung up the phone.

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah. Work stuff. Might be a mission happening."

"Oh yeah? Should we go in?"

"Not yet." He watched her, watched her eyes, while she worked his body. "Cheese and rice, Valentine. Again?" His voice was hoarse and he grinned at her.

"Why not? It's rainy. Nothing else happening. You want to play video games?"

"No. Keep playing with my dick."

"Don't be dirty, Chris Redfield."

"You like dirty."

"True. Shower?"

"Shower."

She laughed as he dragged her up, hooked her under his arm upside down, and carried her like a sack of flour into the bathroom.

They ended up in the bathtub, end to end, covered in bubbles.

He said, "You tell anyone I took a bubble bath, I will whoopie cushion you in front of Wesker."

"Too late. You already did."

Chris laughed, rubbing her little foot in his hand. She used the other to play with his body in the water. The delicious thing, she was trying to kill him.

"What's the mission?"

"Potentially they're saying they might have found the cultists responsible for the bombings."

"Yeah? Really?"

"Apparently. They're coordinating a raid. So we're in if it goes down."

"Fucking sweet. Enough simulations. Let's get out there."

"Right?"

"I hope it goes down like that. Seriously. I took this job to kick asses and fight. We mostly just sit around twiddling our thumbs and playing with ourselves. Wesker is great about keeping us active when he can. But we're wasted there at those desks all day. So many better things we could be doing."

"Yeah? Like fucking?"

Oh. His mouth. It worked every time.

He slipped his hand through the water and put two fingers in her. Just like that. He hooked his thumb up, flicked twice over her body, curled those fingers in her a few times and she came, gasping, twitching.

She was, without a doubt, the most sexual creature he'd ever put his hands on. She was all feeling and touch. She was vocal and in touch with her body and her wants. It was a constant surprise to him. She was a dude with tits and he was mad for her.

He slid his hand back and washed her foot.

Jill shivered in the water. She laughed and shifted, sliding over him in the water. Yeah, he thought, the sexiest thing he'd ever seen. She licked his chest, lapping at the water there. She scent marked him, licking and nipping at his collarbone and his neck. She settled over his lap and rubbed herself all over his dick.

Fuck.

He gripped handfuls of her hair and fucked her mouth with his tongue.

She couldn't even believe how good he was at it. I don't lie, he'd said that first day. He didn't. He was by turns a complete goof and a hero in romance novel. He just knew how to turn her, how to kiss her, how to take her. And it was incredible.

She started to shift and put him inside her and he shook his head.

Oh. Of course. The condom.

He was also an utter gentleman about some things.

She grabbed his face and put it back against the tiles. "You fucking anybody else right now?"

He met her eyes, breathing heavy, "Right now? In this tub? I don't think so but let me check."

"Be serious, you idiot. Are you?"

"No. Just you."

"Me too. Stop being a fucking boy scout."

She slid her hand around him and rubbed him over her. He made some sound in his throat and rubbed his hands over her ass. "Jesus."

Jill laughed a little. She grabbed his face again. "Let's amend the rules here a little."

He licked her mouth. She shivered. "Maybe we don't fuck other people while we're fucking."

"Maybe huh?"

"Yeah. Not dating. Just…fucking."

"You want to exclusively fuck me?"

She gave him bland eyes.

"Maybe I should consult my horoscope. It said not to make any serious sexual commitments while Jupiter is in flux and Mercury is in retrograde. So…"

"Are you ever serious?"

"Yes?"

She slapped his chest a little.

"Tell me what you want, Jill. That was always our deal."

"For right now, we only fuck each other."

"Sounds good. Are we together?"

"No. We're not together. We're friends. We still can date. Just no..fucking."

"Deal."

She looked at his face. "You ok with that?"

"Sure. I like fucking you. No interest in fucking other chics when I'm getting it from you. Keep jumping on my dick, I'll keep it out of other girls. Seems fair."

"Cool." She shifted a little and slid him against her body again.

"Woah there. Friends don't bareback their friends. It's the unspoken rule of the booty call."

She laughed at him. He was such a goof. Was he never without humor in those eyes? She kinda loved him. And she knew she didn't want him fucking other girls. So it was something.

She said, "Shut up, you boyscout. Don't get me pregnant."

"No promises. Redfield men are potent. We get girls pregnant by coming in the wind. True story."

She laughed now. She laughed and gave up trying to mount him. She fell against his chest laughing. He cuddled her, grinning.

"You did that on purpose."

"Maybe. I'm a good guy, Jill. I'd love to throw you down and fuck you bare and raw. No lie."

Holy hell. That worked. She was turned on again.

"But good guys don't go skin to skin with girls. Not without marrying them first."

"What a thing to say." She lifted his head to look at him. "You mean that."

"I do. You want me to be your guy? I'll slip you the sweaty, bare, naked Chris Redfield any time."

"You are my guy. And did you just refer to yourself in the third person?"

"Chris Redfield does that."

"He's a douche."

"He takes offense to that."

Jill chuckled and kissed him. He grabbed her ass and rolled her over his body. That meaty shaft of his brushed all the right places. She shivered and liked it.

She liked him too. The idiot.

He rubbed himself all over her. He rubbed himself against her clit, against her cleft. He was such a dirty man. He tortured her.

She leaned back, "Enough, boyscout. Give it to me." He was laughing as she tried to take his dick and put it in her.

It was the sexiest, strangest struggle he'd ever been a part of. He kissed her furrowed brow. She glanced at him. He kissed her mouth, soft. And she held his eyes.

Oh, she thought, oh. She darted her eyes over his face. Her hand was tentative on his face. She kissed him back, butterfly light.

And he thought: damnit.

And then he did that thing that made her belly roll. He turned the kiss deep somehow. And it was slow and rolling and still soft. It was a boyfriend kiss.

Which was clearly against the rules.

The phone was ringing.

Jill leaned back, panting.

He said, "Go time."

"Go time."

She rolled off him and out of the water to hurry to her room. Chris sank down under the bubbly water and groaned, laughing. He loved her and he was pretty sure that was ENTIRELY against the rules.

…

They geared up back at the station. Barry was pretty calm. Joseph was more interested in making sure everything was working from the chopper to the communicators. The communicators were attached to boxy little units that clipped on their bulletproof vests. They were basically walkie talkies with a longer range.

Naturally Brad looked like he might pee himself at any moment.

Wesker came in to check on things and give them the run down. "At 1300 hours, the local law enforcement line received a tip on the whereabouts of the potential cult we've been tracking in regards to the series of bombings around the city. The tip seems to be legitimate and indicates they were housing themselves in the warehouse district in downtown Raccoon. From what we've seen previously, the mission is potentially hazardous. The use of detonation devices limits our ability to potentially foresee how much danger we're in. There is, at this time, the option to decline the mission."

Surprised, Chris glanced up from where he was strapping on his vest. "What?"

"The mission is voluntary. The risk involved and the parameters of operating blind requires that I offer you, any of you, the ability to back out."

Jill watched Wesker's face. She was looking for the creepy guy she'd sensed so often when watching him. But it wasn't there. What was there? The Captain who'd earned the reputation as the best in the business. He looked calm, he looked clear, and he looked ready to lead them. Creepy or not, he'd asked for obedience that day in the interview. She'd said yes, she meant it. She'd followed leaders in Delta that she didn't necessarily like. She didn't have to like Wesker to trust him. To do this job and be good at it, came with a great deal of self sacrifice. That deserved respect. The rest? They were about to see if he'd earned it.

"I'm in, Captain Wesker. All in."

He nodded at Jill. She turned back to get her weapon and load the magazine. She felt Chris watching her. She lifted her head and he winked. He said, "There's no other way to go here, sir. Throw down or go down. I'm in."

Barry nodded, "You know me, sir. When have I ever bowed out?"

Joseph shot a thumbs up from the other side of the room where he was messing with the radio in the STARS office to be sure it would receive transmissions. Naturally the only link in the chain that was a potential no?

Brad Vickers.

Chris rolled his eyes and watched Jill put on her jaunty little beret she was always wearing. She settled it over that incredible face of hers and he shook himself a little. That was the thing she'd been talking about, he speculated, she didn't want them mixing the naked stuff with the work stuff. Surely he could do that. Surely.

He grabbed the AR-50 from the floor and looped the sniper rifle over his back. There was always the probability that he'd be sharpshooting from a distance. He didn't like it. But he was trained for it. He was johnny on the spot. Seriously. But Barry got to go in on point often when they needed cover. That was how team work happened, after all. You couldn't be the guy kicking in the door all the time.

Brad was doing the peepee dance. Finally, Chris slapped a hand on his shoulder and grinned. "Come on, you puss, you can do this. Why'd you sign up otherwise?"

Brad took a deep breath and nodded.

Wesker nodded, "Let's move out."

As they tracked through the RPD, Jill moved up beside him. Chris glanced down at her as they walked toward the helipad.

"Wow."

"What?"

"I'm nervous."

"Interesting. Why?"

"You know, I think it's Wesker. I have this…thing."

"You have a thing for Wesker?" He twitched his lips and she glanced up at his face. "Is it serious? Should I ask where you're registered?"

"Shut up, you idiot," She slapped his arm, "I want to impress him. Is that weird?"

"No way. I get it. He's a total weirdo. But he's also, probably, the most stealthy, bad ass dude I've ever met. I simultaneously want to run away from him and have him pat me on the back."

"Right? He sought us out. That means he was watching us."

"He wanted the best. Clearly." Chris flexed his arm where Jill was touching it. She snorted and rolled her eyes, dropping her hand.

"Try being humble, Red. Just once."

"I'm humble. I am. I'd be more humble but somebody left me with blue balls earlier. So I'm just hard up."

Joseph said, from behind them, "Word, brutha. Story of my life."

Chris glanced back at him. "Right? Why can't women just finish what they start? This chic was all over me in the bathtub and she just…" He waved his hands. "Poof. Disappeared."

Joe shook his head. He had his red bandanna on his head and his long hair tied back. "Dude. She sounds like a bitch. You should dump her."

"I'm thinking about it."

Jill rolled her eyes.

"You know Heather from Vice? She puts out and doesn't ask for shit. She's kinda awesome. You want me to hook you up?"

Jill had her tongue in her cheek and wanted to smack the shit out of him at the same time. Little bastard. But she was smiling.

"Nah man. This chic doesn't like for me to fuck around. So I better say no. But Heather already asked me out anyway."

"Yeah? How'd it go?"

"It didn't."

They were close to the door to the helipad on the roof. Joseph slapped him on the arm. "You struck out with Heather? That sucks dude. Seriously. I've never seen anyone strike out with Heather."

Jill started to pass by them and Chris said, "Nah. Didn't strike out. Just wasn't interested."

And she didn't like the warm feeling in her belly about that. But she kinda did. And she kinda liked it too. It was a mess.

They loaded their gear into the chopper that Brad had fired up and was fiddling with the controls and the levers on it. Nobody helped Jill on the chopper. She wasn't a girl to them at the end of the day. She was just Jill. The dude with tits.

When it came to the mission, she wasn't even a girl to Chris. Who was rapidly becoming very familiar with those tits. They put on headgear and strapped in, sitting around the chopper as it lifted up and headed toward the mission.

Over the headgear, Wesker's voice was loud and tinny, like listening inside of a can. "When we touch down, the objective will be to get into the building with a minimal amount of attention. Jill? We will cover you while you get us in passed whatever locks are baring the way. I will run point on this operation and Chris and Barry will protect the rear. Joseph will cover the flanks with Jill. Brad?"

"Yes sir?"

"You'll keep the chopper as close as possible in case we require and evacuation."

"Roger."

"The nature of the mission remains to clear the perimeter, capture any suspects that can be taken into custody without direct assault, and rescue any potential hostages. Use of necessary force is authorized. In the event of separation, the rendezvous point will be the drop off and evacuation point. Are we clear?"

The word clear was echoed from each member. And the helicopter had reached their destination. They were over the roof of the building they were planning to infiltrate.

They leapt clear and grabbed their gear. Brad lifted up and away into the rainy sky. This rain, Chris mused, would it ever stop?

Jill was already hurrying to the fire escape door that would take them into the stairs. She dropped low and pulled her lock picks to get to work.

Chris studied the surrounding area. This part was abandoned and had been for some time. Why? With all the money Umbrella was dumping into the city, why not rebuild the industrial district? An influx of commerce and production would spell unparalleled funds for the city. It was odd that it remained empty and unused. Chris wasn't much of a business man, but he knew wasted resources and potential when he saw them.

"We're in." Jill said softly.

She stepped back, they all assumed their positions. Wesker grabbed the knob and nodded off to them. And through the door he went.

They cleared the stairwell and moved together down it. At the first door down, they nodded off again and Wesker went through. Jill and Joseph were after him with Barry and Chris following up the rear. They emerged into the main area of the top floor.

This had once been a processing plant obviously. There were still carcasses of rotting meat hanging from hooks and the horror that comes with old death. Blood was splattered and scattered from the one end to the other over the area meant to cut and bleed the livestock brought there and marked for death. It was the smell of fart and old blood that did it, somebody gagged.

Jill thought, do NOT vomit. If somebody threw up, she'd throw up. That was NOT how you impressed Albert Wesker.

The area was wide open and had grating for the floor. You could see down onto the bottom floor from the top, vaguely. And their boots clanged as they walked across it. A quick sweep showed the top floor was secure.

Wesker turned to them. "Joseph and Barry, clear the West the stairwell and the coordinating offices. Jill, Chris, with me."

Naturally, Jill thought, she was going to do something stupid here because they were with the Captain. Naturally. Wesker signaled with his head and they opened the door into the east side of the processing plant.

They could hear voices now, talking loudly and shouting. There was laughter. Wesker gestured with two fingers and a series of hand signals that told them what he wanted. Chris moved, dropping the sniper rifle into his hands. He took the ladder, silently, against the far wall where they stood. Jill moved to the opposing wall of the short staircase across from Wesker and put her back to it.

Wesker and Jill both had their guns up while they waited for Chris to get into position. Jill was a little entranced looking over at the Alpha team captain. He had a way of staring at you that made you feel, vaguely, that he was trying to get a glimpse into your soul. What did he see there? She wondered. Emptiness?

She shivered.

Chris' voice came, softly, through the head set. "In position. There are six potential hostiles. And it looks to be three hostages. Initial investigation is revealing that they are armed and dangerous. Go ahead with orders."

"Stand down, Redfield. But stay alert."

"Roger, Captain."

Wesker glanced at Jill and signaled with his hand. She nodded, understanding that he wanted her to cover him. He moved away from the wall and progressed down the stairs.

What was happening in the room at the bottom of the stairs was frightening. Cult, they'd said, and it was that. Satanic it appeared in nature and clearly bent on terrorism based on the maps and pictures lining the walls. There was an inverted pentagram painted in blood on the floor.

The cultists were dressed normally, which was surprising. Jill thought, what did you expect? Cloaks and chanting? Maybe. Maybe she had. They were clearly setting up for a slaughter though. And the three people trapped in the chairs were meant to be a sacrifice.

Wesker nodded and they emerged onto the bottom floor.

Wesker and Jill both sought cover behind opposing walls again. And Wesker called, "R.P.D. Freeze and lower your weapons."

Did they? Naturally not. Why would it be that simple?

The first one lifted one of the AR-15's he was holding and Chris put him down. Quick, clean and loud in the quiet room.

They didn't come quietly.

The next one met his untimely end via Wesker's pistol right between the eyes. He leaned around the wall and popped off a single shot. Finito. Impressive, Jill thought, and waited to see if the rest wised up. Apparently, they weren't the smartest guys on earth.

The door to the stairs opened and in came more of the bad guys. Just like that.

Jill and Wesker separated off their walls and found cover beyond barrels and a book case. Chris lived up to his name. He was the eye in the sky and she'd seen him drill a guy once on a windy day from a thousand yards. He covered the hostages, primarily. And picked off the ones that made an attempt to finish them off.

Bullets smashed into the floor and the wall behind her as the guys on the stairs tried to kill her and Wesker. She covered him as he returned fire, watching him waste not a single shot.

Over the headset, Chris said, "Orders?"

Wesker answered, "Try to leave one alive for questioning. Otherwise shoot to kill."

"Roger."

Jill glanced up, randomly, during the heavy fire fight. And there two of them. Two of them. And they knew where Chris was and were advancing on his position.

She aimed between the metal slats in the floor and pulled the trigger. The heavy round took off the top of his head. She watched Chris roll to his back, pull his side piece from his thigh, and drill the second in a single move.

He nodded at her through the metal and she gave him a thumbs up.

But splitting her attention cost her. She felt the bullet whiz passed her face and slice her cheek open as it went. She ducked, feeling the hot went spill of blood.

Wesker's voice came, "Barry, Joseph. Sound off. We're under fire and need assistance."

"Things are clear here, Captain," Barry came back to him, "Hold down and stay down. We're on the way."

The far door on the side of the main floor burst open and they were now seriously out numbered. Chris picked them off as fast as he could but he couldn't get them all. And they knew where he was now, so his stealth was blown.

He turned his weapon and picked off the last two facing Jill and Wesker instead from behind.

Wesker said, "Chris, cease cover fire. We'll cover you from down here. Direct assault and protect the hostages."

"Roger."

Jill felt her eyes flare. What was he telling him to do?

Chris grabbed the edge of the balcony he was on and swung down into the mess of bad guys. Just like that. She was horrified.

He swung back and kicked out, taking three with him as he landed. Wesker signaled to her and they moved to a closer position to cover him. One lifted a gun and Jill drilled him in the chest. Chris was something to see with those flying fists, she thought. He fought like a brawler, all fists and power. He feinted left, pulled his side arm, and put two in a guy rushing him from behind. Wesker took out the one who was trying to kill him from the doorway while he did.

The interesting part about Chris was that he'd just done it. He'd done it. He'd given up a relatively safe position and leapt down into danger because Wesker had said it. That was impressive and she saw the respect for it on Wesker's face.

Total obedience, he'd said. And he was getting it.

Chris ducked down and came up, uppercut and hook. He drove a kick into a groin and rolled back to throw an elbow. He was really good at it. She'd known he was good with his hands but hadn't actually seen him in action before. She liked it.

The door behind them flew open again and in poured more angry cultists. These ones were holding knives and shouting. And, oh yeah, they were wearing cloaks now. There we go, Jill thought, that was more like it.

Jill's gun ran dry and she pulled her knife. Wesker nodded. And in she went, straight into the fray. Her blood fired with it. The thrill of the fight, she thought, and they were animals for it.

She dropped low and took out two sets of legs. Their hacking and slashing was deadly, angry, and misdirected. There was no skill here, just rage.

She blocked, reversed, and stabbed three vicious strikes into the belly of the closest one. The next one grabbed her hair and she rolled her shoulder, slid to one knee and sliced his throat open. The blood burst and splattered her face. It was like being baptized.

A big fat one grabbed her around the waist and picked her up against his front, squeezing her. She threw a reverse head butt and kicked him in the groin with one foot. He dropped her and grunted. She stabbed him in that fat belly and he backhanded her.

Jill went left, hitting the wall. She felt him grab the back of her head and she knew he was going to smash her face into the wall and splatter her there like road pizza. Wesker was just there, just there, like smoke. He drove a kick into the back of his knee, rotated on his hip and leg, and put a straight arm punch into that beefy chest. The fat man dropped her and she spun low, came up in an uppercut, and hit him square in the solar plexus.

Wesker rolled into that fat body, pulled his arm over his chest and jerked. He put the fat guy into a beautiful hip toss, held onto the arm as he went, rolled it up behind his back and drove a knee down into him. Jill leap frogged over Wesker and covered him. She triple back kicked two more that were running at them. The first one got a punch to the face and the second, she swept down, took his feet out from him and buffalo kicked him away.

The first one made a grab for her and she took his arm, hyper extended it, and drove her hand up under it. She dislocated the arm and rolled across his back while he screamed. She didn't stop, couldn't find it in her stop. She looped an arm over his neck, rolled him down, drove an elbow in his back and put him on his face. She finished him off by mounting him and slicing his throat open.

The first one tried to run. She threw down her shoulder, rolled, and threw the knife when she came up. It hummed, thrummed, and hit him between the shoulder blades, putting him on his face.

She was so into it, she didn't know there was one right behind her. He grabbed her and, poof, she thought, there was Chris. She watched him plant that foot, drive that hip, and knock his teeth down his throat. The guy dropped Jill and Chris grabbed him under his arm, around his throat, dropped to one knee and broke his neck with it. She watched him jerk his arm and heard the crack of bone. Reverse neck breaker. Beautiful.

Oh, she thought, oh oh oh. Click.

"Down!"

She dropped and Wesker threw a kick over her head. It connected with two of them in mid slice. Stop watching Chris Redfield fight, her brain said, and pay attention.

Wesker scissored his legs, rolled through it, knocked the guys around like bowling pins and rolled across the floor. Chris pulled him up and they stood back to back. Jill backed up toward them. They were holding their own, kinda, but they were in trouble. There was still three to one odds.

Go down or throw down, Jill thought, why not?

They circled, keeping each other at the other's back. When one moved, the others merged, covering them. They never let their backs stay exposed. That's what team work meant.

Chris dropped down, picked up one around the hips, and threw him out. He hit the others behind him in a spill of angry shouting. Wesker swept low, rolled up, and threw three rapid punches into the face of the one closest to them. He rolled across his back, wrapped his arm around that head, and twisted. The neck popped, wet and loud.

Jill kicked twice into the groin of the one rushing her. She spun back in a reverse roundhouse, looped her leg around his neck, rolled up and threw her body back to the ground. She grabbed his face with her thighs, twisted her hips, and snapped his neck. She finished by the throwing the body into the waiting ones beyond it.

They made a grab for Chris and he feinted, went left, and sent a jab and three solid straight arm hits right into the face. It was fast, like a hornet, pop pop pop. He grabbed the flailing arm, rolled it behind his back, put him on his face and broke the arm. Snap. While the guy screamed, he drove his boot to the back of his skull. Pop, wet and loud and crunchy.

Wesker had two of them and they were trying to hit him with those knives.

Jill called, "Captain?"

"Hold position!"

He ducked as one swung, grabbed the wrist and jerked. He rolled up behind the guy and used his own knife to kill the companion. The other guy swung, Wesker drove the hand he held into his sternum, jerked, and arched blood across the room. He rotated, still holding that arm, twisted the knife and used it against the guy holding it. He jabbed it into his chest and watched him gurgle blood.

Jill turned back and got a fist to the face for it. It hit her hard, mid face. And it fucking hurt. She reeled but held her feet, dropping low as he raced her. She went to her back, stuck her feet in his belly, grabbed his arm and threw him out. He landed, Chris grabbed his arm, jerked it and put his boot to that face.

The doors burst open at the cavalry had arrived. Joseph and Barry started picking off bad guys. Jill ran toward the hostages. With a final pop of a round going off, the room was silent.

And three bad guys were on their faces in handcuffs.

Jill went about pulling off restraints.

Joseph said, "Captain. The other side of the plant is full of arms and weaponry. It's clearly their stock pile. But it gets worse. There's stuff over there like I've never seen."

"Such as?"

"Come see. There are no words."

Joseph stayed behind with the hostages. He was in no hurry to see it all again. Ever.

Barry led them through the main lobby to the far side of the plant. The main part operated efficiently as the reception area. In the whole plant, it was the only part that didn't entirely smell like ass and rotting filth.

Chris glanced down at Jill as they moved. She was covered in blood. Only her beret was clean. He said, "Your hat survived."

Jill glanced up. "Yeah?"

"The rest of you looks like hammered shit."

"…charmer."

"I have my moments."

The room was a stockpile. He wasn't kidding there. It was filled floor to ceiling with endless amounts of weaponry. Knives, guns, C-4, explosives and munitions were three deep around them.

But that wasn't what Joseph had been talking about. Barry gestured to the back room. They glanced at him.

He said, "No reason for me to go in. See for yourself."

Wesker moved through the door first. Jill and Chris were after him. And Jill whispered, "Oh my god."

It was a room of body parts. They were strung from the floor and the ceiling and in a variety of sizes and shapes. Feet, arms, hands, heads. It was a plethora of macabre horror. What were they doing here?

But the answer was laid out on the table in front of them. It was a Frankenstein monster, clearly. It was in a circle of blood and dark feathers. It was female and male and not. It was stitched together and bound with twine. There were no words, Joseph was right about that.

Wesker was examining the books in the far corner, leafing through them in his gloves, careful not to disturb the scene too much. He said, "This is the Book of Shadows. It's entirely possible that the cult is doing witchcraft in an attempt to raise spirits to possess the dead."

"Jesus. Like zombies?"

Chris was looking at the stitched corpse. Jill was looking at the heads on the wall. They were watching her, she was fairly certain, and she felt the chill of it in her soul.

"More like a demon, I'm afraid. The spell here is attempting to offer the body on the table to the demon Asmodeus. Whom it appears is the Destroyer."

Jill shuddered. "Why?"

"We'll be finding out. It's my speculation that this isn't all of what we'll be seeing with this cult. The symbolism, the stockpile. This is one piece of a bigger puzzle. I promise you."

Wesker moved toward them. "Let's call in the RPD and get the Special Victims Unit. We're going to need to someone with a specialization in the paranormal to help us here. But it's my guess we'll be moving again in a day or two, so stand ready."

He left the room. They didn't want to wait there in that temple of death either, so they followed him out into the lobby.

Jill thought, creepy or not, he'd come through like a legend in there. She'd never seen anyone move like that, lightning and speed and smoke. He was skilled in a way she'd never seen on the mat when they sparred.

She said, "Captain Wesker, I think you've been taking it easy on me."

He smiled at her and it wasn't creepy at all. It was just…a smile. "You're very good. And very dedicated. But you lack focus. If you would like to learn, I will teach you."

Jill said, "I would like to learn."

"Good. We will start tomorrow. 2 o'clock. Chris? That was nice shooting before. I wondered how you'd do under pressure. The reports didn't lie. Your skill is without question and your ability to follow orders is respectable. It seems I made the right choice hiring you both. Stand down for now and await the RPD."

He moved toward the room with the hostages.

Chris blinked. Jill blinked.

"I think he just…patted us on the head?"

"Felt like it."

"Still creepy?"

"Without question…but why do I feel happy that we pleased him?"

"Maybe the creepy is just REALLY uptight professionalism."

"Maybe."

They glanced at each other and chuckled. Chris said, "Nope. He's odd. But he got our backs in there. And all that mat training, all that simulation? I just fucking KNEW where we should be."

"I know! I felt the same. I did just what he's been teaching us. And we…"

"Right. We meshed."

"Oh my god. Captain Creepy gets us."

"Seems that way."

"He's amazing. Right? He's awesome."

"He is. Why is that annoying?"

"The eternal mystery."

And the sounds of the RPD arriving took their attention back to the mission at hand. It had gone smoothly, efficiently, and well as could be expected. No one was terribly injured and they had three suspects in custody to question. They had bodies and weapons and plenty of intel to sort through and try to pick apart.

They hit the showers when they got back to the station. Jill went under the spray and felt it soak the blood from her skin. The adrenaline still fired like mad in her blood. Was there anything quite like the fight? Jesus. She was high on it and loving it and hot from it. She could feel it in her belly like teeth.

She glanced over at Chris in the stall beside her. It was risky. It was. They were at work. The STARS had their own showers but still. Bravo or any members of Alpha could come in at any moment. The stalls covered everything unless you LITERALLY looked over and in there. You could see neck and head but still. STILL. Bad idea. Bad idea. But she was FLYING.

She left the water in her stall and ran over to his, pulling the curtain quietly.

He had soap in his eyes and cursed, rinsing it out. He started humming what sounded suspiciously like the theme song to MASH. He was rinsing his face in the heavy, heated spray. And she slid around him, went to her knees, and put her mouth over him.

Since he was totally unprepared for it and had no clue she was even there, she was able to swallow all of him while he was still soft. It made her feel like a champion. She didn't just go, she went all in. She sucked him fast, hard and deep. And it made her feel like she was fighting, fucking, and flying all at the same time.

He made some kind of desperate sound and flattened both of his hands against the stall wall, so ungodly turned on he felt like he might die from it. It would have been ok, really. But Barry Burton took the stall on the opposite side from him.

He glanced over and said, "Helluva thing huh? What a mess."

Gruffly, Chris ground out, "Yeah. Totally crazy."

"Seriously." And Barry was whistling as he washed his hair.

Chris dropped his hands, buried them in her hair and she was all kinds of crazy on his dick. She drove her mouth down and up and licked and nipped and bit him until he was pretty sure he was going to explode. Or throw her against the wall and fuck her while Barry Burton watched. Which was horrifying and oddly awesome. He made some sound and Barry glanced over.

"You ok?"

"Oh yeah. Yeah. Just…you know…thinking about the fight."

"Sucks I missed it."

"Yeah. Cheese and rice!" Jill hummed her throat around him and had his eyes trying to cross.

Barry lifted a brow. "You hungry."

"Oh I am. I really am."

"Go grub up dude. Seriously."

"I will. In…just…a minute." She flicked her tongue around the head of him and he forgot what he'd been saying. What was he saying?

Barry shrugged and turned his back to the water. Chris drove that hungry little mouth down on him, hard, felt her gag a little and gave her what she wanted. He shot in her mouth, hissing, and slapping the wall with his hands. He covered it up with a cough.

Jill crawled out of his stall and back into her own.

He stood there for a moment, shuddering.

Jill rose back up and washed her hair. "Hey Barry!"

He glanced over the stall doors at her. You couldn't, obviously, see anything over the door unless you craned your neck and looked down. Politeness kept the eye line clear and neck up. "Hey Jill. I heard you slayed it in there."

"I did. I'm good with my hands."

"That's the rumor."

"Got a dirty fucking mouth though," Chris remarked and made her laugh. She laughed. And she kinda loved him.

They sat around reading reports and looking at books and flipping pages of useless crap. Witchcraft was a total pain in the ass. It was endless and interesting, definitely, but it wasn't relevant. It wasn't even real! Raising the dead? Who were they kidding here?

They worked long into the night trying to figure out where the fight would take them next. The bomb locations were a pattern, surely. And the targets were placed in locations where the body fall out was vast and varied. Jill studied the pinpoints on the map they'd set up in the STARS office, trying to see the pattern.

Was it a way to collect pieces of people when they blew up? Or what?

She went back to her desk and sat down. She was the last person in the office. Literally. Everyone else had given up and gone home.

The door opened and Chris came in, surprising her.

"Still here?"

"Yeah. I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something." He moved to the white board and studied it. She walked over to join him.

He kept staring at it with his brow furrowed. She liked his face in the low lighting from the one lamp on her desk. He was so dedicated. He didn't know how to just let it go. Whatever was stirring in his noodle up there was going to come to a boil soon, she was sure of it.

"Holy shit!"

The loud shout scared the piss out of her. She jumped and slapped his arm at the same time. "Why?!"

"Sorry. Hold on." He moved to dig through books on his desk. She watched him work, watched his eyes scan and dart over pages. And he grabbed the Book of Shadows. He brought it back and flipped through. It was the symbol, he thought, the SYMBOL. "They're detonating things in a pattern like this." He held the Book of Shadows up to the wall. The symbol on the front, the triquetra, was three sided and looped. He traced the symbol by using the red pins put in the map positions on the wall.

"Look! Here, the first bombing. Here, the second. And the third, here. But they keep repeating the pattern along the path of the first three. They aren't just blowing stuff up, Jill, they're blowing it up in this pattern until they close the circle."

"..why?"

"Closing the circle matters in Witchcraft. It's how you complete the spell."

Oh, she thought, oh oh oh. His mind. He was so smart. She'd been blowing smoke all evening and he just got it, boom.

"Damnit. What good do they really think it will do? They think Buffy the Vampire Slayer is just gonna show up and start fighting the Hellmouth? What's the end game here?"

"Buffy?"

"Oh yeah. The shows alright but the chic is hot. So I watch it usually when you go to the gym."

She kinda loved him.

He was digging through papers and scribbling in his notebook. She could see the gears turning in his head. He speared a hand through his hair and muttered, writing and flipping.

Damnit, she thought, she was into him. Shit and double shit.

Chris rolled his chair over and grabbed a book off Barry's desk. He was half way back to the desk and she straddled his lap. Surprised, he dropped the book.

"I know you're scenting blood there Sherlock. But how about a break?"

His hands gripped her little bubble butt and rolled her against him. "You're all about being dirty at work."

"It's 2 a.m. It's you, me, the skeleton crew downstairs. And the hookers in chairs. That's it."

"I could go get a hooker for you if you're that hard up. My treat."

Jill kissed him. And it was different. He felt it. She pulled out the stops on him. He held her face and kissed her back. Slow, she thought with a little panic, like he was…what? Making love to her mouth? Oh, she thought, oh wait. She met his eyes.

He loves you.

It arrowed into her. Because the look on his face said he loved her. She rose off his lap. He watched her, curious.

She went into Wesker's office.

No one EVER went into Wesker's office.

He waited, curious what she was up to. And she leaned out of the office. He was pretty sure he was still alive. But he'd stopped breathing.

She stood there in the doorway of the office in that little beret, her little boots, her shoulder holster and nothing else.

She said, "How about that break?"

Holy god in Heaven. He was fairly sure she was going to be the death of him. She wanted to fuck him in Wesker's office. WESKER's office.

He pushed out of the chair and moved. Freight train, she thought, desperately. He caught her in the doorway and she jumped, hooking her legs around him like a monkey. He should have thrown her on the desk and fucked her raw.

But he didn't.

He set her in the rolling chair and went to his knees in front of her. Oh, she thought, oh my. And the mouth he put on her said he loved her. She watched him between her thighs in that STARS uniform of his, her thighs over his shoulders and she knew, she knew, it would never be enough.

She grabbed the back of the chair, bowing against his mouth. He caught her around the waist and set her on the desk. He stepped between her thighs and tilted her head back to him. His tongue dipped in her mouth and her hands slid around his back.

The rules said don't say it. So he didn't say it. But he felt it. He felt her. He loved her. That was it. It was done. She was his. Maybe not how he wanted, but she was his.

He pulled her to the end of the desk and filled her full of him. Like he was full of her. While the ugly little raven on the bookshelf behind them watched with blood red eyes.

And sent the video of them directly the man whose office they were making love in.

They didn't need to worry about getting fired. He didn't care about that office any more than he cared about anything in the world. He'd succeeded. He'd pushed them together. They were more than together, he thought with glee. And the look on the face of the guy with the eagle eye said she'd done exactly what she was meant to do, she'd roped him with her big blue eyes and her perfect thighs and owned him now.

It was only a matter of time before he used that love to destroy them both…and watch the city burn while he did.


	3. 3

+Author's note:

A guy in glasses. A girl and a boy who dig each other. Some love, some smut, and finding out about the bad guy pulling the strings a bit. Not a bad chapter. Or total hammered shit too if it's not your thing. Read on or don't. You've been forewarned.

:P

Slainte.

….

III: Albert Wesker

:::::::::::::THREE::::::::::::::

He rolled the paper weight in his palm, studying the window of the world beyond his office. There clearly needed to be consequences for flagrantly disobeying the rules. They were swimming toward the right conclusion, of course, he was going to have Redfield, precisely, right where he wanted him and very soon. But clearly the nature of things needed better defining.

They were wrapped up in each other, which was all part of the plan. But they were doing it in places where it was dangerous. Should they be caught, by sources other than him, the fall out could prove the end of them. So, he had to steer them back on path here and keep them there. And his shaming could be the catalyst they needed to move right back where they needed to stay. He needed Redfield in love with her and deeply. He was almost there. It would take the right amount of shame and censure to make it work here.

A delicate balance.

He moved to the door of his office and spoke, quietly, "Chris and Jill. Could you join me for a brief moment?"

At their desks, Chris and Jill lifted brows at each other. Chris made a face of laughing fear. Jill snorted. They meandered into the office.

"Sit. Please."

They sat.

Wesker said, without ceremony, "First let me express my gratitude to you both for how you've been coming along at simulations. You are both living up to the attributes you were hired for. I'm thrilled to have you on my team for that reason."

"Thank you, sir." Chris said and meant it.

"In other news," Wesker turned the little computer on his desk toward them. And they were all very aware of what was happening on that screen.

Jill, personally, was about to drop dead in horror. There they were, she thought, just going to town on each other. Although, objectively, is was totally hot. Chris' jackhammer fucking played well on screen. But there was more on that screen that that. She watched Chris spin her and put her against the desk, she watched him grab a handful of her hair, and she watched his face. His face…his face said he loved her. Oh my god. His face said he loved her as he shoved himself into her body and she watched herself buck and scream and go around him. She watched him pull her up and turn her into his mouth, she watched him slide a hand over her heart and a hand over her spine. The love was written all over him, from face to ass to feet.

And she was looking at his ass when she should have been worried about losing hers here. She looked at Chris. He looked at her. They both looked at Wesker.

Wesker was watching them, carefully, in those fucking sunglasses he was always wearing. Jill wondered if he was photophobic or something. His eyes were so pale, maybe he couldn't handle the light.

"Clearly, personal relationships within the unit, although not strictly forbidden, are frowned upon. There are cameras all over this building, of course. So there is likely a record of any previous or further attempts on your parts to…fornicate in inappropriate places."

Chris thought, well, this was probably the most embarrassed he'd ever been. And then he flipped Jill around on Wesker's desk and watched her put that mouth around his cock and suck his brains out and he thought, NOPE, THIS was the most embarrassed he'd ever been.

Wesker continued to watch them. On the screen, Jill was keening high and loud while he hammered her doggy style. Chris was pretty sure he was going to implode here and die from shame. He didn't glance at Jill again. He couldn't.

"Sir…I am having real trouble here finding the right words."

Jill whispered, "We are so sorry. SO sorry."

Wesker considered, looking at them, that one of them was indeed sorry. But he'd watched the footage. He'd seen the aggressor. It was Jill Valentine. She'd come on like a whore, flouncing and fucking like she'd been paid to do it. Redfield was a lot of things but he was a known follower of the rules. She'd flouted them, plainly, painfully. She'd lured and trapped and manipulated. There had been a few notes in her file about that, her ability to disregard the rules when it suited her. She dragged Redfield into her web with her perfect thighs and big blue eyes. It was amusing. And made him think more of her for. It would make it so much easier if she fell in line and followed him but he didn't mind the challenge of winning her loyalty. And the added benefit of being the reason she had to work harder to earn Redfield back to her side as well.

He watched the wrench be thrown between them. This would temporarily drive them out of each other's arms. Clearly. It was for the best. She would have to lose him to appreciate him. And her loss would lure him further into the web she was weaving. Perfect.

He needed the loyalty between them to be unparalleled and coupled with human love. He needed it to weave the seeds of his own destruction here. He wanted to see how far he could push him and how far the girl beside him could be pulled from his side. To do that, he needed to know they were bonded together over him.

But clearly the disrespect could not stand here and had to be brought down upon them like a spanking. A delicate balance of punishment that earned respect while promoting a sense of playing with fire for each other. They'd simply gotten away with it. It was time to remind them who was the boss.

"Hmm. As flattered as I am that you felt the need to…couple…in my office. Do I need to make a point of putting a note in your file regarding it? Or perhaps I should allow Chief Irons to witness it and let him deal directly with your punishment?"

"No. No sir. No. Cheese and rice…no." Chris felt about three inches tall.

"Not long ago myself, I was a young man with appetites so I understand the urges that over come us in regards to adrenaline and survival. Perhaps, in the future, you should better choose your places to resolve those urges. I generally don't feel the need to dissuade personal relationships between members of my team. Should this be an issue? I can transfer one of you to Bravo to alleviate the situation."

Bravo, Chris thought, was the B-Team. Everybody knew that. He wasn't to kick one of them to JV because Jill had thought it would be fun to fuck on her boss' desk. Come now, his mind said, did you say no? Nope. The grunting and hammering sound of skin and sweat on the computer said he'd had a grand old time. Maybe that was the worst part here. He'd not only LET her draw him into it. He'd LOVED it. Always a good boy, he'd gone against the grain to touch her and love her. Jesus. She was his fucking kryptonite. CHEESE AND RICE.

"Do I need to remind you about your duty here? Or do you assume that duty involves fucking in your superior's office like petulant teenagers? Should I be insulted? Have I done something to brook disrespect from you?"

Chris was shaking his head, "No. No sir. No. We were here working. It was late. We were stupid and disrespectful and it was not aimed at you at all sir. At all. It was just more private than out in the bull pen. That's it. I'm mortified. And utterly sorry."

Wesker studied him with a grudging sense of respect. Interesting. He seemed to actually LIKE Chris Redfield. Embarrassed or not, Redfield held his gaze. He wasn't staring at the floor like Valentine. He was looking him in the eye. It took balls. "I believe you, Chris. And I'm not a man without some knowledge of the passion that drives two young people to each other. It isn't my business to tell you not to see each other. It is, however, my business to tell you that it won't be tolerated at work."

"I understand sir. Entirely."

"Can I assume it will NOT be happening again in the future?"

Jill whispered, pale faced, "Yes sir."

"For now, I'm going to have you pull extra duty, together, for the next three nights. There have been disturbances in the park that could be related to the witches we've been tracking. I expect the two of you to patrol until midnight each night after regular duty hours. I suspect you WON'T be using the time to express yourselves sexually. And it would be in your best interest to cease and desist any further sexual escapades while working under my command."

He knew what he was doing here. Telling them NO was like telling them GO. They'd rush and roll and ride that forbidden fruit straight into the pit he was digging for them. It was such a joy to watch the people squirm as you killed them.

Redfield, he thought, what a proverbial boy scout. Always the right answers, always the right moves, always the good boy. Raving reviews, raving responses, everyone loved him. He was highly recommended and clearly respected. She was the only thing that had shaken him professionally, ever. It was a telling sign. And one he would use to crush them both…soon enough.

"I will also expect you use the toothbrushes provided by maintenance to scrub the toilets. All of them. Twice a day in the entire station. Perhaps cleaning the remnants of others bowels will teach you to respect the idea of not shitting where you eat."

Oh my GOD, Jill thought, he was going to make them pull shit duty and DO shit duty. She was so embarrassed. She could feel her face burning.

Her brain said, why? You KNEW there was a chance of getting caught. It was WHY you did it. True, she mused, but she hadn't really thought he'd find out. It was mortifying.

Jill nodded, silent. Chris said, "Yes sir."

"For the time being, perhaps it's best if you are not partnered together on missions. Jill? You will work with Barry. Chris will pair with Joseph. It's best, clearly, for the two of you to remember that a place of work is a place of respect and not a place to moon over a coworker and create a conflict. Professionalism is what I expect. Can I assume I will have that?"

Chris was mortified. Fucking mortified. Awful.

"Absolutely sir. Yes."

Jill nodded.

"That is all. Jill, I'll see you on the mat this afternoon. 2 sharp."

"Yes..sir."

"Dismissed."

They moved back into the office and they were sorta…numb. And very embarrassed. They took their desks. They said nothing.

Around them, of course, talking went on. Joseph was trying to see if he could stick a spitball on Brad's face. Barry was telling the world's longest joke involving a sailor, two call girls, and a chicken. Barry said, "You know?"

Chris rose from the desk and left the office.

Oh.

Jill felt the blast of shame over her face settle in her bones. Shit. It had been her idea and she knew, KNEW, he was blaming himself. Or worse, her mind said, he's blaming you for roping him into it. Chris was so professional. She'd pushed him passed his comfort zone. And she KNEW how important this job was to him.

Was Chris…mad at her?

It was an odd concept.

Jill rose from her desk and followed his path. He was in the bathroom. She hesitated, hesitated, and went in. He was standing by the sink.

"Hey."

His eyes came up and turned to her. "This is the boys bathroom, Jill."

"I know that."

"Never have much care for rules though, do you?"

Shit. Yep. It was her. He was mad at her. She said, softly, "I'm so sorry. I am. I'll go back in there and take responsibility for it. It's all my fault."

Chris shook his head, shook it again. "Stop it. You didn't rape me, Jill. I knew what I was doing. I'm just taking a minute here to think about this."

"Think about what?"

"I'm not this guy, Jill. I'm not the guy who throws down on my superior's desk. I don't. What's worse? Wesker could have fired us today and DIDN'T. He's clearly a good man. And we went in there and acted like two stupid teenagers on his desk. HIS DESK. We disrespected our boss. Jesus. I'm THAT guy now."

"No you're not. You're not! I am. Obviously. It was ME. I did it. I kinda…I sorta manipulated you into it."

Chris shook his head and washed his hands. "No, you didn't. But it's pretty clear that it might be time to take a step back here a little."

She felt the trickle of something in her belly. "What?"

"You said it would be bad to get too involved. You were right. Maybe it's time we just…ease back a little."

She looked at his face. "…oh…you're ENDING this."

Chris glanced at her face. They locked eyes. "No. Just…refocusing on the important stuff here. We both NEED this job. I want to do well here too. And I want Wesker to respect me. I can't do that if I'm deep dicking you on his desk."

"No hanky panky at work?"

"Yeah. Definitely. And just…give me a minute to think here. Ok?"

"…you want me to go away?"

"Please."

"…ok."

"Thanks…just…for now."

"Yeah. Sure." She turned and left the bathroom.

So, it wasn't a fight. Not really. But she felt…sad. And hurt. He wasn't her boyfriend or anything like that. So why was she so upset? Why did she feel like her boyfriend just broke up with her?

She put aside and went to the mat to face her boss. AGAIN. To face her boss again. Oy.

They circled on the mat. He was in sweat pants and an undershirt. It was the least clothes she'd ever seen him in. She was wearing her typical headband and stubby ponytails.

Wesker said, "First, understand the rules of what we do here."

"Ok. What are the rules?"

"That is the kicker and the mistake people make when trying to understand it. There are no rules. There is no sense of it when fighting. There are two choices in a fight: win or die. Understanding how easily one can fall to the second allows us to utilize the desire to adhere to the first."

Wesker paused, watching her, "Now…choose. Which will use to guide you?"

She raced at him. He braced and spun, last minute, swept low and took her feet out from her. She went down and rolled back and he caught her hair, slapped her face, and threw her away from him. She skidded, face down on the floor with her butt stuck up in the air.

Awesome, she thought with the first spiral of rage, just what she needed. The icing on her crap cake of failure. First: she loses the best friend. Second: she loses versus the boss that emasculated him. Third?

His hand came down and smacked. He smacked her, hard and fast, on her pert little butt. She froze, horrified.

"If you stick your ass in the air, Jill, someone will slap it down. Get up. And show me what you can do."

Jill rolled, scissored her legs, and leapt up. She threw a punch, spun a kick, dropped low and tried to take his legs. He met each move, reversed it and kicked her in the chest. She went onto her back, skidding across the floor.

She knew it.

She KNEW he'd been taking it easy on her.

Jill drove her hands behind her back, humped her hips, and leapt up.

They circled.

"The first step here is admitting you know nothing. You are a baby. A child. To learn, you have to let go of what you think you know. There is no white horse, there is no hero, there is no savior. You are all there is. Decide! What drives you? What makes you? What breaks you? And FIGHT for it."

She rushed at him, leapt, and went into a front tuck. She landed, spun a side kick at him, had him catch her foot and throw her out. She rolled through it, reversed, and rolled under him as he jumped. Her foot came up, her leg drove into his groin, and she grabbed his hips and threw him.

Wesker rolled, gaining his feet.

"Good! But not good enough. Forget that rage! I can see it on your face. Forget it! Rage is a fool's bargain. It's the devil's bargain. It offers lies and destroys. Rage will get you killed. Disconnect it and find your center. Chris? He will never fight like you can. He's in his head, in his heart. He's feelings and hope and loss. Forget him. And forget all of it. The only way to win? Forget how it feels to lose."

She came at him again and he waited, spun back, and drove his hip into her. He jerked her forward, turned her face down beside him, slapped her ass twice, twisted and tossed her to her face on the mat. She laid there, breathing with rage.

Jill rolled to her feet, feeling the fire in her blood.

"Let it go, Jill! It will NEVER complete you. You have to let it become a quiet nothing. Look inside you! To the bottom of that pit of rage. There is a quiet darkness there. FIND IT. EMBRACE IT. And you will become what you are meant to become."

"What's that?"

"…unstoppable."

She raced at him and he caught her, sweeping her legs out from under her. He grabbed her arm, rotated it, stole her breath, and drove his elbow into her back. She blocked it, barely, and he kicked her knee. She went to one before him and he slapped her face, grabbed her throat, and threw her to the side.

She came up, shouting her anger. Shaking his head, he braced for it. She swung at him, he blocked. She kicked, he deflected. She drove an elbow, he jerked her arm to toss her away. She spun a back kick, he ducked under it. She simply could NOT hit him.

He yelled, "Stop TRYING to hit me and take me down! NOW!"

"HOLD STILL!"

And now he laughed, amused. She rushed at him, leapt, locked her thighs around his face and threw her body back. She threw him, shouting with the anger behind it. He hit the mat on his back and she leapt on him, straddling him.

She drove a punch toward his face and he deflected it, caught her arm, and drove his own punch into her exposed side. She gasped, lost her breath, and he rolled. His legs scissored, locked around her waist, and threw her to her back. He climbed on top of her and pinned her arms down. He sat on her legs and hips, holding her there.

He said, quietly, "You fuck on my desk. You fight like a fool. You are a child, Jill, all rage and emotion and immaturity. You aren't worth what I can teach you. Not until you can let go of that which binds you to your own mortality."

Wesker rose off her. He glanced down at her. "Tomorrow. 2 p.m. Come here with the right attitude. And show me what you've learned."

She laid there on the mat, breathing hard.

Awesome. This was her day. Losing. She was just losing. How to Fuck Up: The Jill Valentine story. She rolled to her feet and went to shower off.

The duty day came to a very boring close. They were neck deep in paperwork regarding the witch case. It was all reports and reading and book work. Chris and her? No talking. Not a peep. He spoke to Brad, he joked with Barry. He laughed with Joseph. Her? Zippo.

She got home and threw her keys on the counter. She grabbed a beer from the fridge. She should really go to sleep since they had to be back at work at nine a.m. and it was not after midnight. But she just couldn't. She was so mad. She was pissed.

The more toilets she'd scrubbed, hating men and all penises attached to them, the more they'd trudged through park APART no less, the madder she became. How was this ALL her fault? He was blaming her. Like she'd MADE him do it. It was unfair and it was stupid and juvenile.

Her brain said: you mean like fucking on your boss' desk? YES. Exactly like that.

She'd panicked. She wanted to get the love off his face and replace it with what? Something else? The naked time worked like a charm. The desk? That was secondary.

And then, that bastard Wesker, he'd shamed her on the mat too! When did the shaming stop!?

Chris came in the house silently behind her.

She grabbed her beer off the table and left the kitchen. She slammed her door, loudly.

In the kitchen, Chris winced at that sharp snap. She had a right, she did, to be pissed. He was being…cold. And it wasn't in his nature. But he was mad. He was. He was mad at her. She'd…

What? His mind queried. She what? MADE you do it? She made you fill her out like an application on the boss' desk? That was HER? Or maybe you're mad because you LOVED it. You LOVED being bad for once. And it doesn't sit well with you.

That was it. That was it exactly. Being bad? It flipped his switch. And he liked it. It was heady. It was hot. And it was dirty and raw and wrong. And it had felt really fucking good to do it.

He owed her an apology.

He was a good dude. He'd set it right.

He knocked.

"Go away!"

"Don't be such a girl, Jill. Come out please."

She jerked open her door. "I AM a girl, you sanctimonious prick. In case you forgot. "

"I didn't forget."

"Stop treating me like a dude with tits than. I'm a GIRL. I do girly things like get mad when people BLAME me for the fucking we BOTH did."

Chris lifted his hands to her. "I'm unarmed, lady. I come in peace here. Don't slap me down for it. Come out and talk to me. I'll let you slap me if you want."

"Shut up. And go away. We're not friends anymore."

He blinked at her. "What?"

"We're not. You're…mean. And stupid. And stuck up Wesker's ass. And I don't want to be your friend anymore. So go away. You…brown noser!"

She slammed the door.

Chris stood there, blinking. Girls. Girls were a PAIN IN THE ASS. Jill was a girl. She was right. He'd forgotten that girls were a pain in the ass. And that she was one of them.

Oy.

He knocked again. She opened the door. "Yes?"

"Come out."

"No…assface." She closed the door again.

He twitched his lips and tried the knob. She'd locked the door. Amused, he went into the kitchen to find a screwdriver. But the tools were all in Jill's room.

Chris went back to her door. "Jill, you're being a baby."

"YOU'RE a baby! A big baby. You want your daddy to love you so you don't want to be my friend anymore! FINE! Go away!"

"I NEVER SAID THAT!" Oh. He was shouting now. Great. She was making him mad. And frustrated. He was so god damn laid back that this was just stupid. She was being stupid.

"You said to stay away from you! I'm doing that! GO AWAY!"

"I never said that either! Damnit JILL! GET OUT HERE!"

"NOO! BEAT IT, REDFIELD!"

Chris licked his teeth, considered. And finally reared back and put his boot to the door. It flew open, smashing into the far wall.

"What the hell!"

"I said come out here."

"You did NOT just kick my door down!"

"It's what I do. Now GET OUT HERE."

"NO!"

Sighing, Chris moved into the room and grabbed her. She screamed, flailing her arms like a mad woman. He was laughing, laughing, as he threw her down on the bed. He leapt on top of her and pinned all her arms and legs to her sides.

She glared at him.

"You're being redonkulous here, Jill. I said to give me a minute. I didn't say to be a crazy bitch and stop being my friend."

"I am crazy…I'm also a bitch!"

"Clearly."

"Get off me and go away. I'm gonna move out."

"No you're not. You can't even afford a can of spam. Stop being stupid."

"I'll live in a box under the bridge with the hobos!"

And now he was shaking with laughter on top of her. She was rigid, glaring. "I hate your sense of humor, Red. I HATE IT!"

"No, you don't. You love me."

"I do NOT! I think you're stupid…and fat."

He lifted a brow and rubbed himself against her. "That part is true. I'm fat."

"…you are a pervert! Get off me."

Chris laughed again and rolled off her. She sat up, fuming. He watched her climb to her feet and pace, muttering. This was deeper than just him. What had Wesker said to her on the mat? She was acting like a pissed off prom date.

He leaned back on his elbows, watching her. "What's the dealio, Valentine? You ain't mad at me. Who's got you fumin?"

"You! Get out of my room! You are a total brown noser! And a boohoo baby. You TOOK HIS SIDE!"

Chris blinked, watching her. She left the room.

He waited and she didn't come back. So he followed her into the living room. She was playing the Playstation. He waited, watching her.

She glanced up and gave him the finger.

"So it's like that?" He queried.

She kept the finger up.

"Fine. You don't want to be friends anymore?"

She pulled the little headphones on her ears off one of them. She kept the finger up. "You started this shit show, Redfield. Take your enormous cock and your sucking up and beat it. I have zombies to kill and no time to waste with a guy who is a complete and utter fucking pussy. See ya."

"You're serious?"

"Yeah." She lifted a brow at him. "I'll pay my half the rent. I'll stay the fuck out of your way. I won't even LOOK at you at work anymore. Sense you think it's my fucking fault and all. You and Wesker can become butt buddies and ride off into the sunset together holding hands and wearing stupid glasses. I'll take my disobedience and my slutty little snatch and mind my own fucking business."

He stared at her. She felt him. She finally looked away from the screen.

"What?" And her tone was nasty and mean.

"You're acting like a baby, Jill."

"So? I'm a girl. I get to do that. You? You're acting like I stuck my hand under your skirt, you liked it, and then your mom caught us. Who's the girl here? At least I know it wasn't just me on that desk, boyscout. Get the fuck out of here."

She went back to playing, putting her headphones over her ears. He stood there, licking his teeth. Finally, he shrugged and went to his room.

She heard him close the door.

She was shaking on the couch while she played. The bastard. Both of them. MEN. WHY!? First one humiliates her and then the other abandons her and then wonders why she's mad. MEN! Men were the stupidest things on earth. She hated them. If she had any interest in vagina she'd just become a lesbian.

Fine. She'd do what Wesker wanted. She'd do her fucking job and stay away from Chris. She'd fight like he wanted. She'd play the good girl. Her whole life people had wanted her to fit in a certain mold. She'd always gone her own way and she was living with eighteen dollars in her checking account. Somewhere, Henri was proud. She'd become his daughter after all. Nothing to show for her fucking struggles and nobody who gave a damn about her.

The only person she'd loved was in his room acting like a big fucking baby.

Her mind said, you heard that right? You said love. You said you love him. You said you loved Chris Redfield. And she did. It was true. He was her guy. She loved him. He got her. He made her laugh. He fucked her like he loved her. Had any man ever touched her like that? Like he loved her? When was the last time someone had kicked in her door to be close to her?

She laid on the couch and hurt. She was sorry she'd hurt him. She was. She'd wanted to keep things light between them. But something had shifted. They loved each other. When had it happened? It was what they'd been trying to avoid.

They? Her mind said. When did he say that? He just agreed to your rules.

You said no I love you. Has he said it?

But he SHOWED it. Damnit. And that was the problem. Why?! Because now she loved him too. That BASTARD! That idiot. She loved him. And it made her hate him a little. She fell asleep on the couch with the game on.

She woke up before him for work with the game and television off and a blank on her. She blinked, touching the blanket. It was hand woven and soft. It was clearly his or his mother's. He'd come out and covered her up.

The bastard.

She got in the shower and heard him getting up. She ignored it, putting on make up while he moved silently behind her in the tiny bathroom. She curled her hair and put on her beret. They came out of the house and didn't ride together. She took her bike and he took his. They didn't gun engines or race.

They just went to work.

She went to the lobby to get some coffee. He went up to his desk. She came up and found everyone working together. She sat down at her desk and started going through files.

There was no whoopie cushion in her chair.

The day found them scrubbing toilets at lunch. She avoided him. He made no effort to talk to her. He joked with Barry. He threw a spitwad at Brad. Joseph showed him the newest Hustler for the month and they made dirty remarks about the women in it.

She and Barry talked about his girls. Moira, his oldest, was taking dance lessons. She was pretty good apparently. He showed pictures and made them laugh.

At 2 p.m. she was back on the mat with Wesker. He could see the sadness all over her today. He chastised her and kicked her ass. She fought half assed and pathetic.

Wesker slapped her face. She drove a kick at him. He knocked her away. He threw an elbow and she surprised him. Even in her stubborn sullenness, she was strong. She caught his elbow and punched him, hard, in the side. He lost his breath.

He lifted his eyes to her face, "What drives you, Jill Valentine?"

She met his eyes. "Today? Nothing."

It was a good answer. She was starting to see the benefits of emptiness. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe losing Redfield would push her to be the best she'd ever been. Maybe she needed to lose the softness in her to find the steel.

Something flickered in him. He considered it, rolled it in his brain. Ah. It was interest. She interested him. More than any other. More than Chris Redfield who was, in a way, his obsession. He wanted to know what drove Chris, what made him, what bled him. But Jill? He wanted to know what it would take to make her turn on everything she cared about. Did she have a trigger?

Could he seduce her to earn her loyalty? Had Redfield won her that way? Was it a matter of human touch and emotion? He could pantomime such a thing. He could woo her and win her to his side. He'd been acting his whole life. But he didn't think it was that easy. The human heart was a mystery to him. He couldn't pretend to know what love was. He didn't feel it. Couldn't understand it. To fake it, he would need to know how to pantomime it. You couldn't fake what was between her and Chris. It was very real. And very interesting.

He'd been intimate with women all his life. He'd pretended to care. He'd even let his body explore itself sexually on more than one occasion. He'd dated to please the eyes of the world and to allow his body to find release. He'd taken Anita Muller to his bed on more than one occasion.

Anita, he mused, what a woman. She'd been young and delightful. She'd been beautiful. She'd come from Edonia with nothing. She was looking for a chance. He was looking for a beautiful woman to hang on his arm. He'd played her like a fiddle. He'd been as fond of her as he could have been given the state of what he was. She'd looked at him with red, red hair and her big green eyes and he'd wanted to, briefly, own her. So he'd put himself between her thighs and satisfied his body and her want of him. And then she'd talked about marriage. She'd mentioned children. He'd been unable to hide anymore beneath the armor of his own emptiness and she'd seen he didn't love her. So she'd run away. He hadn't seen her in…six years. She was, possibly, the only woman that lingered a bit like regret in his mouth. If he'd been able to feel anything, he might have felt it for Anita Muller.

Jill leapt on him and he caught her against his front. He held her there, studying her face. Was that part of this? She looked like Anita. She had the shape of her eyes and her body. She had the fire. Was there some interest in her because of that? He waited for his body to react sexually to her. And there was nothing. No. It wasn't that. But it was possession. He wanted to own Jill Valentine.

He needed her emptied of everything for that. He needed to have something to bargain with. The time would come.

She elbowed him in the face and kneed him in the stomach. He grabbed her arm, rotated, and kicked her in the side. She spun back, spun low, and took his feet. It threw him to his back. She tried to do a heavy knee drop on him and he rolled. He kicked her in the chest and she gasped, curling around the pain.

"I can feel your hate. Who do you hate Jill? Me? Or yourself?"

She rushed him.

He knocked her down and held her there. His pale, pale eyes made her feel broken and weak. He said, "Find your strength, Jill. Or give up."

She said nothing. He let her go. "Tomorrow."

"Fine."

He watched her leave the gym and wondered if he'd pushed them too hard. He turned and there was Redfield, standing in the far doorway. He'd been watching. He'd been there for her even if she'd never known.

No. Not too hard, he mused. Just hard enough. She was Redfield's Anita. Wesker smirked and moved to rinse himself free of sweat in the showers.

Jill went into the women's locker room and showered off. No one stole her towel and forced her to leave the room naked until she found her clothes. No one fucked with her. Because Chris wasn't her friend anymore.

She went back to her desk. They were all there working. She went to the board to work on patterns for the witch hunter murders. She studied diagrams of voodoo and ritual.

Chris stepped up beside her. He pointed, "This is the connection. See?" He pointed out the last two markers. "If they lay two more? They'll have closed the circle."

"Any way to know what or where?"

"I'm working on it."

"Hmm. Good luck with that. Let me know if I can help."

She went back to her desk. He watched her, saying nothing.

They went on patrol. She stayed on her side of the park. A fine rain was falling, splattering her face and hands with cold droplets. The park was large and beautiful. The clock tower loomed above it, offering a view of the coming storm. The clock tower gonged midnight.

She turned back to cross the pretty walkways. A hobo was sleeping on a bench in the rain. Jill found some newspaper and covered him up. She considered and tucked her last ten bucks in his sleeping hands. He opened one eye and smiled at her. She smiled back and patted his dog that stalwartly sat beside the bench.

She crossed the walkways and stopped. Chris was standing there, watching her.

"What?"

"Was that your last ten bucks?"

"Yeah? So?"

"Why?"

"He needs it. I don't. I've sat there on the bench with no roof and no money and no food. Nobody helped me. So I did." She passed by him.

He said nothing but followed her. She threw one leg over her bike and gunned the engine.

"You gonna wear your helmet?" She glanced at him as he called to her over the rain.

"You gonna pretend to care if I don't? Go home, Redfield. I can take care of myself." She peeled away from the curb.

He watched her go and sighed. Girls. Somebody save him from the trouble of them. She was a pain in the ass. Why was he bothering with her?

Because she'd given a homeless guy the only money she had.

Because she gave shit like a man and made him laugh. Because she fucked like a porn star and brought out dirty parts of him he'd never have touched without her. Because she was his best friend in the world. And he missed her.

She was in her room with the door closed when he got home. He threw together something to eat and opened her door. She watched him from her bed where she was reading.

He sat the plate and the sandwich on it down beside her and put a beer on the nightstand adjacent to her side of the bed. He said, "I covered your bike up. The storms supposed to be pretty bad so I covered it and put against the back with mine."

"..thanks."

"Sure. Night."

He closed her door.

She sighed and missed him.

The storm came and stayed into the morning. They got ready for work. They moved around each other easily. It was fine, Jill mused, this is what people did when they got ready for work. It was what roommates did. They existed but they didn't have to be friends to do that.

She was brushing her teeth and moved aside so he could too. She said, "I plugged the hole in the basement where the leak was. May want to call the landlord though and get someone to fix it."

"I'm sure you did great. I've never seen anyone who can fix shit like you." He spit in the sink and she smiled a little.

"Thanks."

"Sure."

Jill rinsed her tooth brush and said, hesitantly, "Thanks for the sandwich last night."

"You bet. You want a ride to work? I don't like the idea of you riding that bike in the pouring rain."

Touched, she nodded. "Sure. Thanks."

"Yep."

Jill went into her room to get dressed. He sighed and wondered if she'd ever speak to him again like they were friends.

At work, they were friendly and talkative to everyone else. They were polite to each other. They did target practice all morning and Wesker had them cleaning toilets and then running simulations all afternoon.

She was writing down numbers on a report when the STARS office door opened and one of the rookies from Vice came in. She grinned at him. Manny Rodriguez was a pretty funny guy. He was always hitting on her. She was always quick to deflect. She considered and figured today was the day she'd say yes.

Joseph chuckled, knowing the game well. Manny struck out at least twice a week with Jill. Objectively, he was a good looking dude. Tall and thin with a tattoo on his neck of some kind of Mexican catholic thing. But he wasn't pretty enough for Jill. They constantly ribbed her on her love for pretty boys. Ryman had made sense. This guy? No way.

Barry snorted.

Brad was grinning waiting for the rejection.

Jill didn't bother to look at Chris. She grinned, leaning back in her seat now.

"Hey Manny."

"Hey Jill. You gonna let me buy you dinner today?"

"Yep."

Brad choked on his coffee. Barry lifted a brow. Joseph nearly tumbled out of his chair.

Manny, temporarily shell shocked, recovered with aplomb. He leaned on her desk, grinning. She smiled back. "Yeah?"

"Sure. You've earned it. I've got to pull extra duty tonight. But tomorrow I'm free since it's Saturday. You want to make a day of it?"

"You bet. It's the Umbrella Days Parade this weekend. The rain might fuck it up but we can give it a good anyway if you want."

"Love to. How's ten thirty Saturday morning?"

"Awesome."

"Cool. Pick me up at my place."

"Great!" Manny stood up, grinning like a mad man. He left the office the same way. Jill kept started typing on her computer.

The room was silent.

Brad said, finally. "What the fuck man?"

"What?" Jill filled out a word processing sheet with figures, "He's cute."

Barry said, "You've been blowing him off for months. What gives?"

Jill shrugged, "Feels like time to move on."

Joseph smirked, "Ohhhh. You were seeing somebody. Things go bad?"

"You could say that. We…had a difference of opinion on what was happening with us. He pulled the plug. So I'm bouncing with it."

Joseph nodded, "That's the shits, Valentine. Been there. Mary? She dumped me last week. Bitch. I bought her a fucking ring."

Barry slapped his shoulder sympathetically, "Dude. I wondered. I'm sorry man."

"It's cool. She was a total rag lately anyway. I'm following Jill. I'm gonna go get some easy ass and forget her."

Jill smirked, "Right? Forget giving a fuck about the person. Just go out there and get laid."

"Preach it." Joe turned back to his simulation. Brad snickered. Barry was playing Tetris now.

She felt Chris watching her and ignored him. She worked on her witness reports for the burglary on Bleaker Street. She didn't have mat practice with Wesker on this rainy Friday because he was away on donor recruitment business with Irons.

So at 2 p.m. she went instead down into the lobby to sit by the fountain and take a break. She leaned on it and ran her fingers through the water. She watched the rookies milling about like lost souls. She thought about what she was doing here.

She was moving on right? That's what this was. Chris had drawn the line, she was just giving him the space to stay on his side. Her mind said, he's been trying to make up with you. Don't be a bitch. That was…true. Maybe it was time to make nice again.

She rode with him to the park. He parked the Bronco and she said, into the quiet car while the rain pounded around them, "I'm sorry."

He glanced at her face. She met his eyes. "I'm sorry about being a rag. You hurt my feelings. I overreacted."

Chris shook his head and tried to touch her…and she leaned away. It hurt him. So he drew back from her. He said, quietly, "I'm sorry too. I am. It wasn't your fault. I wanted to go in that office. I wanted to do it. I just blamed you because I'm a fricking asshat who can't take responsibility for his own stupidity. It's not you. I'm not mad at you. I wish you'd stop being mad at me."

Jill smiled a little, "Not mad. Just trying to be a grown up and stop pouting. Friends?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Cool. Let's do this." She leapt out of the Bronco.

He sighed. He rolled his neck. He ran a hand over his mouth. Fuck. This is why you didn't fuck your friends. What a mess. He opened his door and got out.

At midnight, they gathered back in the Bronco and rode home. He wanted to hear her laugh. He wanted to hear her say anything that was real. He fucking missed her.

She went off toward bed and he grabbed her hand. She looked at his face. "Stay. Please."

"Ok."

"I need help with the zombie dogs."

Jill watched his face in the dim light. She sighed and sat down beside him on the couch. They played the zombie game together.

"Go LEFT." Jill shouted at him as he played.

"I went left!"

"No. You went around the LEFT BEND. If you stay there in the garage? That stupid bitch in the dress comes out and kicks you."

"Well maybe she shouldn't be running around a parking lot in a dress and four inch heels. What kind of idiot fights zombies in a dress and heels?!"

"What kind of idiot just stands around fighting zombies?"

"Right? RUN."

"I'd never run from zombies. I'd make them my bitch."

He laughed and she shifted a little on the couch. Her head settled on his shoulder. His laid on hers, just a little.

They fell asleep on the couch playing the game. He woke up in the early morning light to find she'd covered him up before she'd gone to bed. He sighed and missed her.

The rain had lessened when she came out of her bedroom for her date that morning. He was in the garage hitting the heavy bag hanging there. The soft and gray light from the open garage door spilled in as she stepped out to wait for Manny.

His hands were taped and his torso naked and sweaty. She watched him hit the bag like he'd kill it. His form was technically perfect. He jabbed, hooked, swung and moved around it like a boxer. She watched those muscles bunch in his arms, back, and stomach. She stood near the garage door and smoked a cigarette.

He paused, panting and cooling down. She was in some excuse for an outfit. It was a little red thing with straps and no bra. No bra. Her perky full breasts in something that silky and nearly underwear. She shifted, watching the rain, and he could see the thigh highs she was wearing and the clasp for the garter belt that was clearly on those perfect hips. She had on some kind of strappy black shoe that made her legs look ten feet long.

Jill had done something to her short dark hair so that it was all curly and twisted up around her face. She had enough eyeliner and make up to highlight those cheekbones and the brilliant blue of her eyes. She lifted a brow at him. "What?"

"Nuthin. You look good."

"Thanks."

"Nervous?"

"Nope."

A bead of sweat rolled down his neck and settled in the suggestion of hair on his chest. They held gazes. A silver Mazda pulled up and idled in the street and honked.

Chris lifted a brow. "What a guy. Honking so he doesn't get wet."

"Some guys don't like getting wet I guess."

She glanced at him soaked in sweat. He held her gaze. No bullshit, she thought, damn him. "Some guys do."

"Yeah. Until they get a spanking for it. Then? They're just like the rest of them."

Ouch.

He shook his head, laughing a little. But it wasn't funny. It was just bitter. "Have fun, Jill."

"You too." She tossed the cigarette. "See ya."

He kept on hitting the bag long after she'd gone. Why? What was happening here? They'd said sorry. It was done. Why were they still of course here? What did she want from him?

His mind said: what do you want from her?

Well he loved her. And he wanted her around. What that meant? Who knew.

And he didn't have time to worry about it. Claire was pulling up in the rain. He watched her leap off her bike and grin. She ran into the garage, pulling off her helmet. He grinned, watching her.

She had the longest hair of any girl he'd ever met. The red ponytail trailed against her butt as she moved to hug him. And stopped.

"Ew."

"Thanks."

"Whatcha doin home on a Saturday?"

"Workin out. What else? What about you? No dudes dangling off your fingers this weekend?"

In her jeans and a motorcycle jacket, his baby sister didn't look like a baby anymore. She was all grown up and beautiful with it. She leapt up on the workbench he had and lit up a smoke. He eyed her, disproving.

"Pfft. You want one?"

"…yeah." He took one and they lit up together. Somewhere their parents were judging them for it.

Claire grinned, "Only room in my life for one boy today, Redfield. Where's your better half?"

Chris shrugged and grinned at her, "Date."

Ah. Claire studied his face. That was the pain there in those eyes. The big squish. He was all about that girl. Why weren't they just together already? She inhaled a long drag of that nasty cigarette she was smoking.

"Hmm. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Surprised, he met her eyes. "Come again?"

"Don't be a doofus, Chris. What are you doing? Just get the girl."

"She don't want to be "got", Claire. Think I can make her want me?"

Claire looked at him, considering. She shook her head. "I've seen her look at you. She wants you. Why aren't you together?"

"It's not what she wants."

They moved into the house together and Chris closed the garage. Claire followed him into the living room and they flopped on the couch. She tossed her jacket in the recliner.

"Says who?"

"Jill."

"Not to put too fine a point on it but I don't think she knows what she wants."

"No. She's a fucking mess." He turned on the game and they played together for awhile. She laughed as the female character in the game was blown up by a grenade.

"That's what that bitch gets for wearing a dress."

"That's what I said man!"

Chris burped and offered her the plate of nachos they were sharing. Claire took one and scooped up some jalapeno cheese. She glanced at him, "What's the rule on farting?"

"Fire in the hole, kid."

"Cool."

She blasted the sofa with one and made him laugh. He loved her, the little shit. She put her head on his shoulder as they shifted to watch reruns of Saved by the Bell.

"You love her." Not a question. She just said it. He sighed.

"Yeah. Not that simple though. I promised her."

"Chris, slow and steady is good for a race where you're holding a spoon and carrying an egg. But when it comes to love? Slow and steady gets you stuck in the friend zone."

Chris shrugged but stared at the pouring rain beyond the window. "Well that's what you wants."

"She's a fucking idiot than."

"Stop it. She's not."

"You deserve better. Forget her. And go find a nice girl to marry."

"Shit…now you sound like Mom."

Claire laughed a little. He lifted his arm and she moved under it. She could tell he needed a hug. She put her head on his chest. "I miss them."

The rain started to pick up, sounding thick and heavy now on the roof. He said, quietly, "Me too, kid. Me too. Every fucking day."

"They'd want you to be happy."

"I'm happy."

"Pfft. Liar."

"I'm mostly happy."

"Then go take what makes you happy, Chris. You and I both know there's nothing in life worth waiting for. Go get it. Or you'll be forty five one day and watching the woman you love marry the wrong guy."

It was a frightening thought. He wondered what kind of ugly mess he'd be when he was that fucking old. Probably a fat security guard in a mini mall somewhere with eight kids and a pudgy wife that nagged him all the time. Scary.

The scariest part? He wanted his pudgy nagging wife to be Jill.

It was a hard road being a guy who kept his promises.

….

She got home after midnight. It was pouring down rain and Manny didn't bother to walk her to the door. She ran to the front door and got soaked.

There was more than one reason she wasn't going to see him again. He was ok. But he was missing the common decency to walk her to the door and use an umbrella to keep her from getting wet.

She let herself in and saw Claire sleeping on the couch. Smiling, she covered her up with the blanket on the floor. Jill locked up the house and went toward her bedroom.

She kicked off her little shoes and caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror over her dresser. Her make was running in black streaks down her face. She wondered what she was doing. What was happening here? She'd lost her fight.

Why?

Since when was she the type to just give up?

She was failing at things here. She was disappointing her boss. Disappointing herself. She'd pushed aside the only friend she'd ever had. She was so lost.

Sighing, she left her bedroom. She went into Chris' and looked at him. He was sound asleep and twisted in his blankets and sheets. The window was open beside his bed and the roll of rain and thunder was soft and luminous. Lightning cast a streak of silver over him.

Jill closed his door behind her and crawled across the bed. She shifted the sheets and the blankets and curled against his back. She wrapped her arm over his waist and put her face against the warm skin of him.

He started to roll over to say something funny and he felt her shift a little. And she started to shake. And then he felt the wetness.

He froze, listening to the pouring rain on the roof. Thunder rumbled quietly. And he realized she was crying.

She was crying against his back.

He closed his eyes and held them. His hand came up and curled over hers against his chest. It killed him to hear her do it. He'd have cut off a nut to keep that from happening. He hadn't meant to hurt her so badly. She was his buddy, his pal, his best friend in the world.

She was the cat's pajamas and the coolest chic he'd ever met. She was it. And he'd blamed her for being the coolest chic he'd ever met. It was stupid. And he wasn't that guy either. He didn't do vindictive shit like that. He didn't dwell in regret and he didn't try to hurt people for being who they were. He rolled. He bounced. He was the guy who shook it off and kept going. And he'd hurt her for being the girl that didn't give a fuck about the rules.

He was a hypocrite.

And it was galling and humbling to admit it.

He rolled to face her. She made some sound and covered her face. Broken, he wrapped his arms around her. She whispered, hiccupping, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so stupid."

"Jilly Bean, you're not stupid. I'm stupid. I'm sorry."

"I'm letting everyone down." It was a soft little whisper on a heavy sob.

"Never. You hear me? Never. Jill…Jill…damnit…." He pulled he face up to him and kissed her. She made a sound and grabbed his face.

She tasted salty and sweet. He poured himself into her. He tried to give her all that need and want and strength in him for her. She made a sound and gripped his hair in her fingers.

He started to delve his tongue into her mouth, fast and hungry, and she shook her head. She shook her head and shifted. She held his face. He caught her eyes in the flash of lightning.

His hands moved, slow, he found her little panties beneath her dress and slid them down her legs. She rose and his hands found the hem of her dress. He pulled it over her head. She was in that little garter belt and thigh highs. She curled her hands around him and drew him to her. They kissed, soft and wet on their knees.

Jill held his face. He curled a hand up into her hair, shaking loose the little bobby pins that held it. It tumbled into a curly mess around her face. He skimmed a thumb over the tears on her cheek. Her make up was smeared, her hair was a curly mess, and she was beautiful. She was perfect.

He put that in his face. He let her see it. He let her feel it.

But he didn't say it.

He'd made her a promise not to say it.

She whispered, holding his eyes, "I'm sorry, Chris."

"No sorry. No more sorry. Not here and now." He slid his hand over her and dipped his fingers into her. She made a soft sound and was already moist and excited for him.

God she was perfect.

He knew he should get a condom now. Now…and didn't.

She pushed him onto his back and rose over him. He watched her, touched her, and she put her mouth to him and stole a piece of him he'd never get back. The rain was soft and quiet now and the sound of their bodies was the perfect compliment.

He watched her go, watched her move. She was pale and soft in the shadowed light. He cupped her breasts, holding them while she slid down and over him and took him into her body. Smooth, easy, he fit perfectly there inside of her. She gloved his body and she was wet and slick and tight and everything he'd known she'd be. It wasn't desperate, it wasn't pain or slapping or screaming. It was deep and sharp and perfect. It pierced and bled where it stuck, the spear of this moment, the spear of this need. He sat up, spilling her into his lap a little more.

They moved together. She made soft sounds of need now, gasps and little moans. Her thigh highs were smooth and silky against him. He gave her the sound of her name on a groan and she gave him the taste of her tongue for it. They curled and cushioned the want for each other.

And he felt her slide her hand around and put it over his chest.

He drew back to look at her. She had her hand over his heart.

Fuck.

He was done.

That was it. He put his forehead against her chest and his ear over hers.

She wrapped her free hand in his hair. They moved faster now, deeper, harder. She made a sound like a keen. He lifted his knees enough to drive her tighter on his thrusting body. The angle was perfect, gliding and grinding over that spot inside of her that met them both insane for it.

Jill came apart, bowing, and rising and falling atop him as her body wrapped itself wet and slick around his shaft. He made some desperate sound and kissed her. He kissed her right over her heart. She felt the tears in her eyes.

He pulled her down against him and kept his mouth there against her as he gasped, ground inside of her body hard enough to make her gasp his name, and spilled himself there inside of her. She gasped, shivering, and rode his body a little harder for it with the excitement. He filled her up and loved her. He loved her. She was it.

Damnit.

He held her while they both came down together.

Now she'd run, he thought, now she'd run. It was her way. She pulled his face up to her and kissed him.

He shivered, holding on.

"I missed you."

He put his ear over her heart again. She stroked his hair. He said, softly, "I missed you too."

"Maybe we don't fight anymore."

"No. No more fighting."

"You're my guy, Chris. I need you around."

"Looks that way, Valentine. I have that effect on the ladies."

She laughed a little and he leaned back to smile at her. "Stay with me tonight."

"Where the hell else would I go? This is my house."

She slapped his sweaty chest. He laughed and kissed her. It was smooth and soft and a little wet. He rolled her back beneath him.

"These fucking thigh highs. Torture. You wear that get up to kick me in the balls?"

"Maybe. Did it work?"

"Like a charm. I simultaneously wanted to fuck you standing and kick that guys ass."

"Perfect."

Chris settled between her legs and she wrapped her arms around him. They were quiet as the rain fell outside the windows and cocooned them inside together. Finally she said, "Still my best friend?"

"Always. Who else would I take baths with?"

"Claire is out there."

"That is the grossest thing you've ever said to me."

Jill laughed and lost her breath as he suckled on one of her breasts. He rubbed his nose between them, pushing them together to pillow around his face. She shivered, watching him.

"Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"Maybe…maybe we don't see other people."

He lifted his mouth from licking her nipples. She gasped, shivering. He let go of her breasts and kissed her again, right over her heart.

"I think that would be ok."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. You're the coolest chic I know, Jill Valentine. You asking me to be your guy?"

"You're already my guy. I think I'm asking you to be…patient. And maybe to wait a little bit."

They held eyes in the soft lightning strike that echoed with thunder close by. He shifted his body and slid into her. She was still wet from before. She gasped and her body closed around him.

She took that as a yes as he caught her hands, put them over her head, shifted her hips a little and watched her gasp and bow…and rode her into the mattress beneath him. Yeah, she thought as she went up and started making a soft cry, yeah that was a big yes.

It wasn't I love you, he thought as he increased the pace and heard the soft slap of their bodies together that thrilled them both, but it was close.

He was a patient man. He wasn't going anywhere.

And they had all the time in the world.


	4. 4

+Author's note:

Smut. Someone gets beat up. Pranks and witches. Not a bad chapter. Or total hammered shit too if it's not your thing. Read on or don't. You've been forewarned.

:P

Slainte.

….

IV: Chris Redfield

:::::::::::::FOUR::::::::::::::

Sunday morning she woke up in his bed.

It wasn't raining any more. The sun had spilled bright and high into the room. She glanced at the clock. It was almost nine. It was also Umbrella Days all weekend. She wanted to go.

She rolled over and caught a look of herself in the mirror.

She looked…she gasped. Awful. Terrible. Her face looked like Pennywise from IT. She was terrible. Her makeup was everywhere. It was all over the pillow she'd slept on.

Jill rose naked from the bed and hurried to the bathroom. She could hear him and Claire in the kitchen laughing and cooking. She leapt in the shower to wash off.

In the kitchen, Claire said, "Better?"

"Better." He fried eggs, whistling.

"She slept with you."

"Looks that way."

Claire lifted her brows at him. He lifted them back.

"…gross."

"What?"

"Were you nailing your girlfriend while I slept on the couch?"

"Maybe."

"Gross."

Chris laughed and put the food down in front of her. Claire went to town on it. He laughed and watched her. She was the light in the dark for him. Their parents death had bonded them. Always at odds, it seems they'd forgotten that the day Jack and Siobahn had died. She flipped her hand and he gripped it.

"Don't be stupid here, Chris. She'll hurt you if you let her."

"She's a girl, Claire. Not a grenade. I think I can handle it."

"You ever met any girls, big guy? We're ALL grenades."

"True…fucking…story. Speaking of which, who are you exploding on these days?"

"Josh in Bio. Sex on a fucking stick."

"….utterly disgusting. Keep it in your pants, C-Bear. Or I will barf."

"Can't do it, Chris. Can't do it. I have a hard on for him."

"What?"

"A total chic boner. I have one for him. Like Jill has for you. I want to rock his woooorld."

Chris shuddered in disgust and went to get dressed for the day. He considered carefully what to wear. He had about five shirts and a series of old jeans. He was a classy guy. Laughing, he threw on something and went to brush his teeth.

Jill was singing in the shower. He prepped her toothbrush and poked it through the curtain.

"Thanks dude."

"Yup yup."

Jill poked her head out at him. "You want to get in here?"

He considered for a moment. Claire was shouting obscenities at the zombie game in the living room. "Uncle fucker! What WAS that?! A giant POOP!?"

Chris kicked the door to the bathroom closed. "You convinced me."

Jill laughed as he got in the shower, still dressed. "I think you missed a step."

They were both laughing as he put her against the wall to kiss her.

Claire, in the living room, was speculative. She liked Jill, she did. She was as fun as she was mouthy and spunky. But this was gonna end badly. Her brother? BIG squish. He played it hard and fast and loose. He was all kinds of soft.

Jill was all kinds of dirty. She could see BAD GIRL written all over her. She was motorcycles and tattoos and blowjobs under the desk at work. She was a bad girl. In a good way, Claire should know as she kinda was one herself. But not the right girl for a big squish.

So…it hurt her to do it, but she needed to break them up. Chris would survive it. But Jill was bad news. She was going to lead him down some ugly little path and get him fired…sorta like she almost had already. But she would get him fired and then drop kick him right in the fucking heart.

So she had to go. It was time. Chris was all heart in a big package. He was their Dad. And he was their Mom. And? He was Claire's world. Chris needed babies and trips to Disney World. He needed car pool and grandkids on the porch. Jill? She was one bad chess move away from the unemployment line and living her life as a roadie to some bad guitarist in a garage band. No. She would NOT see Chris get knocked down like that. She liked Jill. A lot. But she wasn't right for him. So Jill? She had to go. Claire shot the bitch on the video game as she rushed her and said, quietly, "Sorry Jill. See ya."

He took them to the parade. Fun was putting it mildly. They rode rides, they played games. Chris DESTROYED them at the shooting games. He tried to play fair and shot behind his back with one eye closed. He still killed them.

Claire got the giant Panda for his efforts. She had to carry it on her back like a dead body because it was so huge. The giant banana was still waiting to be won though. Jill slapped his hands while he was eating an ice cream cone and it splatted on the ground.

He lifted a brow at her, "You kidding me?"

"Nope."

"So that's how it is?"

"Is there any other way?"

She got a hot dog during one of their many trips back from the rollercoasters. When she took a bite, she choked on it. It was DRENCHED in pepper. She was choking and coughing as he slapped her back and laughed.

She attacked him and he caught her, picking her up against his body and pinning her hands to his chest. She was laughing and choking and coughing. And Claire thought…FUCK. Because his face said he loved her.

He loved the bad girl.

What a fucking idiot.

Jill went to the bathroom to rinse her mouth. Claire held his gaze. He lifted a brow at her. "What, C-Bear? I got foods on mah face?"

"You doofus. You bumbling butt breath doofus."

"Most people just call me Chris. But I guess that works too."

"You are going to get C-RUSHED here, you big dumbie. She's gonna steam roll all over your nuts and leave your dick in the dirt."

Chris laughed, he couldn't help it. His Claire, always so dramatic. And kinda gross.

"Is this happening before or after dinner? I'm hoping for a funnel cake for desert."

"Stop joking, dumbie. What are you doing?"

"Currently? I'm eating nachos. Which, is possibly a bad idea, given that we're about to go on a ride where you will LIKELY be behind me. But that could be a bonus too."

Claire slapped the nacho out of his hand. It hit the ground and he looked at it forlornly.

"That was just mean, Claire."

"Break up with her."

"She's not my girlfriend…exactly. So I can't. But why would I? I LIKE her. She makes me laugh. She's a little crazy, a lot of fun, and fucking dynamic in bed. Why in the holy hell would I stop seeing her?"

"She doesn't love you."

He stopped and looked at her. And now he tilted his head. "Did I say I was in love with her?"

"You are. Idiot. I can see it all over you. She can see it too. I bet your BOSS saw it on the VIDEO of you BONING her on his desk. Remember that? My sweet brother. My STUPID brother. I like Jill. She's a cool chic. She's also a bitch."

"Ease back, Claire," And he sounded good natured, yes, but he was firm now. The joking was gone from his voice, "Ease back. I understand your concern. But you don't want to start firing off insults at her."

Claire held his eyes. "You defending her?"

"Yeah. I am. She's a good person. Big heart. You don't really know her. So don't even pretend to get it. She's not playing me. She's had some shit go wrong in her life and she's trying to find her place in the world. I'm not looking to tie her down or hurt her. And I'm not looking for a mom to tell me how to deal with her. So you need to chill out, back off, and just enjoy the day."

They looked at each other for a long moment. Finally, Claire relented. Her brother, she thought a little, a big squish with balls of steel. He'd stand in front of you while bullets tore him to pieces if he loved you. He was protecting Jill Valentine from her. He was done. He was finished.

Fuck.

"You big softie. I'm going to be there when she breaks you."

"I'm tougher than I look, Claire. Don't worry."

Jill came running from the games section. She was holding the coveted giant banana. She held it up. "Guess WHO just KILLED it at the shooting gallery?! THIS GUY!" And she pointed to herself.

She did a little dance and pretended to hump the banana.

Shit. Well, Claire was right. He was in love with her. Big time. How could you NOT love a woman who was pretending to deep dick a stuffed fruit?

Claire was laughing. She dropped her corn dog in the trash. "That's it. I need a banana now."

Chris smiled at her and grabbed her hand. "Thank you."

"Prove me wrong, Christina. Prove me wrong." She ran toward the booths with the games to win a banana.

Jill tossed him the giant banana and straddled the bench across from him. She put her hands on his legs above his knees and rubbed. "Thanks for today. I can't remember having more fun."

"You bet."

"You mad that I won the banana?"

"I feel vaguely emasculated, yes. But I'll check to see if my ego can survive it."

Jill laughed and slapped his legs as she rose. She started by him and stopped. And then she dropped her hand, took his chin and turned his face up to her. She kissed him, eyes open.

Surely she was aware anyone they knew could be around them. She was aware. She just wasn't sure she care like she should.

She said, quietly, "You had cheese on your mouth."

"Hmm. You get it?"

"Maybe. Maybe I missed it."

"Maybe you should try again."

"Probably not a bad idea." She skimmed her thumb over his mouth. He felt the thump of his heart in his chest. Damnit. "I'm thinking it's ferris wheel time."

"That ride is UBER boring. Why would we ride it?"

"Oh. Because I know how to make it fun."

She leaned down to whisper in his ear. And it was so utterly and completely dirty that he was hard before she even finished speaking. She rose, smiled, and headed toward the ferris wheel.

He waved to Claire and pointed. She was deep in conversation with some skinny guy with a big nose. She waved and gave him the thumbs up.

He didn't even finish his nachos as he raced after Jill. She was laughing as she ran away from him. She ducked into the funhouse and he jumped in after her.

He watched her laugh and run but it was a huge hall of mirrors so he wasn't entirely surely she was anywhere close to where he thought she was. He moved and shifted, turning in the semi darkness. She laughed again and poked out from between two mirrors.

"BOO!"

He backed her into the mirror and kissed her.

Her tummy fell out of her butt. She lifted her hands to cup his face. It didn't stay sweet. It never did with them. Chris was like standing too close to a burning building for her. She had to see how close she could get to the fire without going up in smoke.

He was sex and skin and encompassing greed. Jesus, she thought, as he stole her gasp into his mouth and speared his tongue into her mouth. Jesus.

Voices emerged into their little bubble. It sounded like Claire and possibly…Barry? Jill gasped and pulled back. He had one hand in her pants and was stroking her. She shivered and grabbed his wrist.

"Hey! Flag on the play there, Red. We are no longer ALONE in the funhouse."

He heard the voices too. And he thrust his middle finger into her anyway. She gasped and humped against him. Christ. He wondered if he'd ever get enough of her.

With a regret, he pulled his hands off her. She shivered and fixed her clothes. And along came Barry Burton and his two daughters. Not a moment too soon. Thank god. Or they'd have gotten an education in how babies were made.

They spent the whole day at the fair. They partnered with Barry and his family for awhile. Lost Claire to a handsome guy for a few hours. And tried to figure out how many ways they could get away with groping each other.

It was…was it a date?

It felt like a date.

When they rolled up to the house, Jill shifted in her seat a little. The rain had driven them away from the parade and the fair. It was steadily pouring again.

She stared out the windshield. And finally, she said, "Are we…dating?"

"Do you feel like we're dating?"

"This is gonna sound stupid but I don't think we should date."

He rolled in the seat to look at her. "Ok. Why?"

"Honestly? We just got REAMED at work for it. We keep up on doing this kind of thing and we're gonna get separated. I do NOT want to end up on Bravo."

"Me either."

"So maybe we cool it for awhile."

He lifted his brow at her. "You breaking up with me?"

"NO. No.. But maybe…we just…"

He considered her face. And then he laughed. "You want to be secret sex buddies."

"…ok. Maybe. A little. I don't think we should go flaunting our shit around work anymore. I want you to do well at work, Chris. You deserve it."

"And what about you?"

"I'll never get promoted. We both know that." She started to open the car door and he stopped her.

"Hold on." He ran around in the rain and opened her door. And then he tucked her under his jacket to protect her from the pouring water and ran with her toward the house.

Gentleman.

On the porch, he shook off the water and wiped her face free of it. She grabbed his wrists and looked into his face. "You ok with that?"

"I meant it when I said whatever you want, Jill. Seriously. You need space, I'll give you that. I dig you. I'm not trying to choke you. And you not getting promoted? That's just a cop out because you're too afraid to try. Don't. Go for it. You are better than you give yourself credit for. Play the game, just a little, and you'll have Wesker and the rest of them? Eating out of your hand."

He opened the door and waited for her to pass by him into the house.

"Explain." She instructed as he hung up his wet jacket and moved into the kitchen to get a beer.

"It's diplomacy, darlin. And knowing how to play people. You got me to fuck you on that desk."

"That was just a beret and tits, Red. Not rocket science."

"Some. Yeah." He pictured the beret and the tits and was instantly ready to drill her on the desk again. He laughed a little at himself, "Some of it was just an innate ability to read people. You KNEW you could get me to do it. You have good instincts, Jill. Just use them. And you'll be on your way."

"…thank you."

He shrugged and popped the top on the beer. He offered it to her. She took it and he grabbed another one. He wasn't trying to do anything but speak to the truth to her. His no bullshit? It was perfect. He didn't waste energy flirting or making her feel like the prettiest girl in the room.

That was the trick with Chris. You just KNEW you were the prettiest girl in the room. He told you, straight up, that you were. He didn't have to do anything but just be himself. And that was more than enough to be everything.

Her brain said: You're in love with him.

She studied him as he ate a pickle standing there at the counter looking through the paper. Ok. So she kinda was. She kinda really was. And that was bad. She'd been afraid that would happen.

And he was right. They both wanted Wesker to respect them. They both wanted to do well at this job. It wouldn't work. It wouldn't happen if they kept falling in love with each other.

Maybe it was time to throttle it back a little.

"So maybe…maybe we just ease off the gas."

He lifted his eyes to her face. "Define "ease off"."

"I might have…jumped the gun a little with the exclusivity discussion last night. Maybe."

Oh. He kept his face blank. But there was that drop kick in the heart Claire had mentioned. There it was. Open up chest; kick boot in fucking heart. Boom. Yep. It sucked.

"Ah."

"Don't do that." She lifted her hands a little. "I don't…want to get you in trouble anymore. Ya know?"

"Jill, I'm a big boy. I can decide what's good for me and what isn't."

"I know that. I do. But I couldn't stand it if they put you on Bravo and tanked your career. I want to be…friends ya know? Can we keep doing this and being friends?"

So she was breaking up with him. Kinda. Sorta.

"I think so. But if you don't, that's cool. I meant that too, Jill. This? Just you and me here. Doesn't have to be hard or weird. We'll lay off the gas here. And take it easy for awhile."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Ok…cool. Thanks again for today. I'm gonna hit the sack."

"Awesome. Night."

"Night."

She went into her room and quietly closed the door. He rolled his tongue around his teeth and popped his neck. And then he went out into the garage to beat the shit out of the heavy bag.

He whoopied her at work Monday morning. In hindsight, she should have seen it coming. They were back to being buddies.

She should have been prepared.

It was Monday morning whoopie time. She went to inspect the board. She came back…whoopied. The flatulent fart filled the office and had Joseph laughing.

Brad giggled. Joseph shook his head. Barry said, "Why does that never get old?"

Jill pursed her lips. Chris shrugged.

Had she thought all the sweet lovemaking would soften him?

His eyes sparkled at her. Did she really want it to? No. They weren't together. They were…just pals. Or something.

Just two dudes hanging out. One of them just happened to be a girl.

So when he started to fall asleep reading reports, she kicked his chair. And down he went. He pinwheeled his arms and went over onto his back.

Yep. Just buddies.

At noon, she went to the mat. Chris came with her. She said, "I want you to really try to hit me. I keep losing to Wesker. I need to stop losing."

"I'm the wrong guy to help you. I can't even hit him. Why would I be able to help you do it?"

"You think there's anyone in the world good enough to fight him? No. But you're the best I've got. Until I find somebody better, you'll do. So, let's go."

"What a rousing endorsement, Valentine. Cheese and rice. Fine."

They sparred. He was faster than she'd given him credit for at first. He was good at knowing where she'd be. He caught her and threw her. She tucked back and rolled with it. She moved in a flurry of attacks. He blocked, reversed, ducked and didn't let her hit him.

Good, her mind said, GOOD.

At 2 p.m., Wesker came down to face her. Chris moved to the side and sat to watch. Great, Jill mused, now she had an audience.

Wesker rolled his arms. She rolled hers.

He moved. She moved. She spun low, he threw a kick over her head. She came up under his leg, drove a punch toward his groin and he hooked that leg around her head and threw her to the floor. She rolled through it, spun her body like a top, and took his other leg out from under him.

He went down, she rolled over the top of him and pinned him to the mat.

Impressed, he eyed her from the floor. "What do you fight for?"

She answered, quietly, "Me."

It was a good answer.

Wesker rolled up, grabbed her shirt, put a boot in her belly and kicked her out. She tucked into a front hand spring and rolled back to face him. He considered and cocked his head.

"Chris?"

"Sir?"

"I'd like you to come against Jill as well. Let's see how she does with two opponents."

Jill lifted a brow. Chris shrugged and flanked her.

"Now…" Wesker circled her. "What do you do when two opponents are against you? When one both are bigger and stronger. You are the weak link here. What do you do?"

Jill considered the situation. And she moved.

Later, Chris thought, he'd understand the drive behind her. She chose him first, which meant Wesker was the greater threat. She took out the underling first. He swung at her and she feinted left, deflected his arm, and drove a punch at his solar plexus. He blocked and she dropped down, put one ten foot leg straight into the air and kicked him clean in the face with the back of her heel. She spun back and took his legs, grabbed his arm and rolled him to his face on the mat.

Wesker grabbed her around the throat and she rotated, dropped an elbow, and used the heel of her hand toward his nose to drive him back. She elbow dropped onto Chris' back, which hurt like hell and stole his air, and rolled to her feet. She cartwheeled toward Wesker, ducked and rolled as he threw two fast kicks at her head, and she came up. She came up and kick flipped him right in the chest.

Wesker went back, flipped over, and came up nodding.

"Better. Better today. Why?"

But he knew. It was the other man. What else? Which meant she was still fighting for love. And it would only get you so far.

Fair enough, he thought, and turned to Chris. Wesker threw a kick at him. Surprised, Chris blocked it, spun back and hooked an arm around his neck. Had he been a literal opponent, it would have been the start of a reverse neck breaker. Always the brawler, Wesker mused, and drove an elbow into his sternum, drove two punches into his stomach, and hooked an ankle behind his. He dumped him on his face and Jill leapt on him from behind.

Surprised, Wesker went to all fours from the weight of her. She put him in a head lock. On their knees on the mat, Wesker was nodding.

She fought for her, true. But she'd found her strength for Chris Redfield. That was it. That was her trigger. She was loyal.

He tapped the mat.

He tapped the mat and gave up.

Jill rose, feeling the rush and roll of success. Oh god, she thought, had she won? Did that happen? Wesker turned to her.

"You have to remember, as you fight, that fighting for what's right or what is important will only get you so far. The things you face, the foes, won't always have a purpose for that fight. They will want to kill you. They will not stop, they absolutely will NOT stop until you are dead. They won't care about what you fight for. The only thing you can do, ever, is keep on fighting long after that thing is gone."

They watched him and he felt it. He felt their respect now. He felt their interest. They believed him. He inspired them. He considered them, "Your opponent may be stronger, faster, bigger and tougher. It doesn't matter. It won't matter. If you are BETTER. To be better, you have to let go of what you're fighting for. Remember it but don't dwell in it. In this job, you could be dead tomorrow. Will the fight stop because you are dead? No. It goes on. And you will go on. Or you will never win."

He held Jill's gaze now. "Tomorrow I will begin to teach you about movement and restraint. Are you ready to learn?"

"Yes. Yes sir."

"Good. Chris?"

"Sir?"

"I want you to shift your training. You have the strength, work on the speed. There will be times that strength is your weakness. Without a secondary set of skills, your strength will fail you. Learn to move when the time comes and not to dwell on being the strongest dog in the yard."

"Yes sir."

He moved toward the showers. "We have some intel regarding the witch murders to discuss. Meet me back in the bull pen in twenty minutes."

When he was in the showers, Jill turned back to Chris.

"I beat him."

"You kinda did."

"I BEAT him?"

"Seems that way."

She let out a whoop and jumped. He caught her, laughing. She wrapped around his front and kissed him. He put her down.

Remembering she'd been the one to put the brakes on, Jill stepped away coughing. "Sorry."

"No worries. Good work, Jill."

"Hey thanks."

She ran to the showers. He watched her run and chuckled. She showered off and went to grab her towel. It was full of holes.

Blinking, she wrapped it around herself with a snort.

Some of the other female officers were joking and laughing as she came out. One lifted her brows, "Valentine? It may be time for a new towel."

Jill, one breast clearly poking out of the holey towel, shrugged. "It's ventilated."

And they all laughed.

Chris was working on his shift report when Jill came into the bull pen. He grinned at her, she lifted a brow. He went to open his desk drawer. The handle? Well it shocked the shit out of him. He yelped and looked at her face.

She looked back, innocently.

She looked down in her seat for the whoopie cushion. Nothing. She sat down. They faced each other across the desks. She tilted her head, he tilted his head.

"So, it's like that?"

Chris smirked, "Hasn't it always been like that?"

"Game on, you little jerk."

He winked at her.

She felt better than she'd felt in days. Wesker came into the office and moved to the board.

"There was a murder this morning."

They all turned their eyes to him. "Last night sometime between midnight three a.m., three bodies were found here and here and here." He gestured to the board, to the pattern. Jill glanced at Chris. "We're still trying to discern the nature of what ritual they are attempting to enact."

Jill kicked is chair and gestured with her head.

Chris cleared his throat, "Sir? If you don't mind? I have a theory."

Wesker nodded and stepped away from the board. Chris moved over and took his notes with him. And something happened. Jill watched him and saw something on him. It was…what was it? It was command. Or something.

She saw something flash across him like she could see into the future. He was going to lead men one day. She had no doubt about that. He commanded the room, gesturing, speaking concisely and clearly. He answered questions and engaged his audience.

And he had the answers.

Whatever Wesker threw at him. He HAD the answers.

He was so fucking smart.

"If we follow the shift in kills, in targets, we start to see that it's forming a specific pattern right? The pattern? It's the spell. They're doing a spell. Why? I think they're trying to summon a specific demon."

Brad snorted, "That's not even possible. Can they really be a threat if they're trying to do magic? Unless the rest of the Lord of the Rings shows up to help, are fake witches really a threat?"

Everyone looked at him. Jill thought he was must be kidding.

Nope.

He was that fucking stupid.

WHY was he on alpha team?!

Wesker said, quietly, "The spell isn't the threat, Brad. The terrorism BEHIND the spell is the threat. They are building toward a final and very bloody conclusion. We need to the know the WHY to know the way to defeat them."

Sheepish, Brad nodded, "Yes sir. Of course sir."

"I've called in contacts to consult with us on witchcraft and Satanism. They are arriving shortly. Meet in the conference room and bring what you have to contribute. Chris? This is EXCELLENT work. Bring anything you have regarding the demon in question."

"Yes sir. I will."

He moved out of the room and Joseph slapped Chris on the shoulder. "Brown noser! Good work." It was said without any rancor at all.

"Hey thanks."

Jill grinned at him as they moved toward the conference room. "You didn't tell me you had it ALL figured out."

"I may not. We won't know until these experts take a gander at it, I guess."

They were still smiling about it as they stepped into the conference room. It was wide and long and graced with a huge table currently set up with a slide machine. The person there was already going through slides.

She was beautiful and very tall. At least five foot nine in the heels she wore. She had brutally perfect high cheekbones and wicked dark eyes with long red hair scooped back from an ethereal face. The sides of her hair was faded a little to show the tattoo against the side of her head. It was a wiccan symbol. She was green eyed and had pink stones and moonstones dangling in her ears. She wore a suit in black with a shocking purple camisole beneath it. Her fingers were clinking with big rings as she talked.

The man beside her was older, pushing the back side of fifty and reminded Jill of Spacely Sprocket from the Jetsons. He was mustached and short and kinda chubby. He wore a vest and a pocketwatch.

The beautiful woman stopped talking to smile at them as they came in. "Merry meet," She said cheerily and her voice was smoky and smooth, "I hear you bring good news."

She moved forward and shook hands. Brad stared at her like he'd burn her face into his brain. Barry looked like he could be her brother or her father or something. Joseph tried his best to look flirty and failed. She held Jill's hand in hers for a moment.

She tilted her head. "You are a light, aren't you? Keep it strong when all others fail."

Weirdo.

Jill nodded, smiling. "Sure thing."

Wesker said, "This is Gia Davos. She is the expert we sent for on Wicca. And our other guest is Ron Jarvis. Ron is a professor at Yale here to help us understand the Satanism displayed by the cult we are tracking. If everyone could take their seats, we can get started."

Gia stopped by Chris and shook his hand, "I hear you bring me something that may have the answers we seek."

He smiled at her, "Possibly. Hopefully."

"Excellent. You have an open mind, it is written all over you. You are?"

"Chris. Chris Redfield."

"Ah. Ahhhh. Your name is rooted in mystic truth. You come from long ties?"

"Seems that way. My Dad's family dates back to before I can even begin to remember."

"Good. A seeker of truth with an edge in the mystic will make this so much easier. Come up front with me, Mr. Redfield. Let me show you what I know."

"Sure."

Jill sat down and ended up next to Brad and Joseph. It…wasn't…ideal. And Chris? Chris ended up standing at the front of the room with the "wiccan expert." He watched her face as she spoke, he listened. They put their heads together over his research and she pointed, nodded, and pointed to something in that huge book in front of her.

Ron Jarvis was giving a lecture on Satanism. Jill tried to pay attention to it and not be jealous of the red haired witch that was currently sniffing around her man.

NO, her brain said, NOT YOURS. You pulled the plug on that. Remember? BFF's. That's it. You did that. That was your choice, kid.

Ron Jarvis was saying, "There are two types of Satanists in the world: the ones who worship and the ones who don't. Satan was invented... uh, discovered... uh, let's start over. People first started talking about Satan around the third century B.C., starting in Jewish scriptures. The concept of Satan caught fire with Christianity." He gestured to the slide show he was starting. It was a goat with horns and the many pointed symbol, "Given human nature, it's a lead pipe cinch that there have been some kind of Satan worshipers throughout most of the history of the concept, but it's difficult to estimate exactly how many, for the same reason it's difficult to estimate how many Communists were working in the State Department in the 1950s. Although there were some, the label "Satanist" became a catchall for any group of people whose beliefs offended the church of Rome."

Gia said something quietly to Chris. He laughed and glanced at her face. Jill watched him, curious. He leaned over, whispered, and the beautiful red head? Well, she touched his arm.

"Gnosticism was the equivalent of Satanism in the eyes of the early church. So was Witchcraft. So too any form of Occultism. Freemasonry is still called Satanic by many Christians. When Christianity moved into a geographical region, it co-opted as much of the native religion as possible. Whatever remained was deemed Satanic. It's also tricky to draw the line between the historical practice of demonology, in which the forces of hell were invoked as servants, and Satanism, which is the worship of Satan," Ron Jarvis was giving them a hell of a lecture. There was a shit ton of interesting stuff to be learned. And she wasn't interested. Not even a little bit.

She was, however, interested in the hand on his arm. And why it felt the need to stay there.

"Satan began to take on the familiar qualities of horns and tail in the Dark Ages, modeled on several predecessor pagan gods such as Pan or the Green Man, fertility-style gods who represented everything the Catholics were out to eradicate, such as sex and generally having a good time." Ron Jarvis gestured to Barry who was raising his hand. "Yes?"

"What about the robes and shit?"

Joseph added, "And the Rosemary's Baby stuff?"

"That was likely engineered by the Catholic Church or some semblance of religious connotation along that line. Most Satanists take offense to the idea of worship in terms of Satan. They present themselves as secular humanists with a sense of humor, who embrace the concept of Satan as a symbol of anti-Christian protest. It's never, entirely, one sided when it comes to fanatics, of course. And zealots on either side could be known to embellish and indulge in various types of horrific activities."

Wesker was studying the slides on the wall as they emerged. Chris rose from his seat and moved to stand beside him. They spoke, quietly, briefly. And Chris gestured to the part of one slide. Animated, he made a symbol on his hand. Wesker nodded and rubbed his chin like he had a beard.

Chris asked, gesturing to the photo of satanic ritual on the board, "At what point to we segue way into cultism as opposed to Satanism?"

"Cultism," Said Jarvis, "Is the idea of extremism or even falsity often led by a charismatic and authoritarian leader. In the case of what you're tracking here? I'd say assuming Satanism may not be what you're looking at. Cult? Yes. It's religious. But what religion?"

Gia rose now and moved to join the other two at the board. "It's Witchcraft, Mr. Redfield."

"Chris."

She flashed that killer smile at him. "Naturally. Chris. It's Witchcraft. It's not Wicca. But it doesn't even pretend to be."

Wesker met her eyes, "Would you mind enlightening us, Ms. Davos?"

"Gia. And of course. Ron? Do you mind?"

"Not at all. I'm very curious, myself." He took a seat.

Chris leaned on the wall, crossing his arms. And Wesker took the seat he'd vacated.

"What is Wicca?" Gia smiled, jingling her rings, "Contrary to what those who choose to persecute or lie about us wish to believe, Wicca is a very peaceful, harmonious and balanced way of life which promotes oneness with the divine and all which exists."

Jill queried, "So nature?"

"Yes," Gia answered, appreciating the question, "An no. Wicca is a deep appreciation and awe in watching the sunrise or sunset, the forest in the light of a glowing moon, a meadow enchanted by the first light of day. It is the morning dew on the petals of a beautiful flower, the gentle caress of a warm summer breeze upon your skin, or the warmth of the summer sun on your face. Wicca is the fall of colorful autumn leaves, and the softness of winter snow. It is light, and shadow and all that lies in between. It is the song of the birds and other creatures of the wild. It is being in the presence of Mother Earths nature and being humbled in reverence. When we are in the temple of the Lord and Lady, we are not prone to the arrogance of human technology as they touch our souls. To be a Witch is to be a healer, a teacher, a seeker, a giver, and a protector of all things. If this path is yours, may you walk it with honor, light and integrity."

Chris nodded a little, "And the difference with what we're seeing here?"

"Although what you're seeing is Witchcraft. It isn't Satanism. One has nothing to do with the other. They share a similar set of symbols, perverted and destroyed by Satanists. Witchcraft is stones and herbs and energies and natural objects. It draws from light or dark, yes. It's more neutral than anything predefined as white or black magic. It is both. Because nature is both loving and cruel. You will hear people confuse witchcraft, Satanism and paganism. Wiccans are often pagans. This is true. Satanism is not paganism. Pagans follow earth magics. It's a spiritual belief system with no ties to Christianity whatsoever."

Chris moved to the book on the table. "I got that part. So what about this? This is the Book of Shadows. What does that mean? In terms of what they're doing here."

"Let me say that there is no ONE Book of Shadows. Ever. The book of shadows has often been used as a plot device for those looking to invent a story. It has merit. Yes, it does. Because a book of shadows? It is a collection of YOUR spells, potions, records and references. It's individual. It's personal. It's not all encompassing, Chris. It's years and years of love and devotion to your craft."

She stepped up beside him and look at the symbol he was gesturing to. "So this…Asmodeus? The Destroyer? Is this something personal?"

"The Destroyer is not personal, no. Not exactly. The demon is well known. The desire to raise him is personal. And the destruction intended when he rises. Discover the why? It might help you find the whom."

"Can you help me decipher this book?"

She met his eyes. Jill licked her teeth. Stick your hand down his pants, Jill thought snidely, and be more obvious.

Gia said, "I can try. I would love to help you."

Wesker nodded. "Good. Excellent. Chris? Stay with Gia and get started on interpreting the book. If we can find the why maybe we can stop the next attacks."

Chris nodded and they sat down together. "Are they trying to raise a demon here, Gia?"

She nodded, slowly, "It's safe to say that is the end game here, yes. But why? There are better demons than Asmodeus. Why him?"

"Maybe you can help me figure that part out."

"I'd love to." And she looked at his mouth.

Jill pursed her lips and rose. "Sir? Do you need us to help?"

Wesker studied her behind those glasses of his. He finally shook his head, "I don't believe so. Why don't you adjourn to the range and work on movement and accuracy for the rest of the afternoon?"

Barry said, "You want me to stay and help here, sir?"

"Sure. Gia? Barry is very good with the cultism portion of things. He might be an asset."

Gia smiled up at him, "Handsome men are always welcome."

Barry grinned like an idiot. Jill rolled her eyes and followed and Joseph and Brad out of the room. They spent the afternoon at the range, blasting the shit out of stuff. They messed around with machine guns and magnums. Jill couldn't get control of the Desert Eagle she kept trying to learn to fire. The kick back was enormous. She didn't know how anyone could use it.

Joseph put a naked girl on one poster and sent it out over the range. Jill shot her right in the vagina.

Brad was snorting so hard he looked sick.

Joseph chuckled, "You just gave that girl her last good fucking, Valentine."

Brad said, "So you think Chris will start tagging that hot witch chic?"

Joseph shrugged and aimed a sniper rifle from the floor. They were outside now at the big range. They were working on distance shots, clearly. Joseph clicked his rifle to adjust for wind resistance. "Hard to say. Red's an odd duck about chics."

Brad nodded a little, "He is. You get the feeling he was tagging just one girl recently?"

Jill said nothing, adjusting the scope on her rifle. Brad fired and missed completely. Joseph drilled his target between the eyes. Jill's shot took out her targets throat.

Damnit.

"Oh yeah. He said some girl he was seeing fucked him up."

And now she listened, closely.

"Oh yeah?" Brad fired again and hit the dirt eighteen inches to the right of the target. WHY was he in Alpha? "I didn't think he was the type to let girls fuck him up."

"Right? He said this girl? She keeps fucking with him. Blows hot, blows cold. Utter fucking nightmare."

Jill gritted her teeth. And drilled her target in the mouth. FUCK. She adjusted again.

"Bitches be trippin man," Brad commented, "Why do you think I stay the fuck away from them?"

Jill snorted out a laugh, "Because you can't even pay a girl to jump on your dick, Brad. Get serious."

Joseph laughed and nodded, "True story, dude."

"Oh yeah? What's your excuse, Valentine? Manny said you were a total ass pain on your date."

"Manny? He's an idiot. He was rude, stupid, and boring. He tried to get a hand job in the car. I gave him a hand job alright. I punched him in the dick when he tried to put his hand up my skirt."

Joseph nodded a little, "You're a good girl, Valentine. Seriously. Don't let dudes grope you. Plenty of nice guys out there want a good girl."

"Thanks, Joe. What a nice thing to say."

"I'm a Don Juan in disguise."

Jill laughed and shot her target in the ear. SHIT. She adjusted again.

"You seein anybody?"

She considered and went with the truth. "Nope."

"You want a fix up? I know a nice guy who's your type at the gym. Long hair? Plays in a band."

"Why does everyone assume that's my type?"

Brad said, "Because that IS your type. Pretty boys."

"Who says so?"

They both said, "Red."

"He's a dumbass too. And wrong. I don't have a type."

Brad said, "I think he's just jealous."

Curious, Jill shot her target again. And hit it clean between the eyes. BOOM! "Why jealous?"

"He WISHES he could get a girl like you. But he's a buttface. So he can't."

He was INDEED a buttface. Jill chuckled and agreed. "Out of curiousity, why not?"

It was Joseph who answered, "Ok. Objectively speaking, Chris is a handsome dude yeah? He's got about as much charm as a wet fart but chics like that sometimes. But you? You're the tits, Valentine. Your body is a fifteen, your face is a twenty, your personality is off the charts. Chris can't score with a chic like you. He knows it. He knows he ain't good enough. You? You need a guy who is as hot as you are. Or you'll never be happy."

Jill wasn't sure if she was flattered or insulted. Did they really think that? That she was too good for the average guy? She thought about that as they packed up for the day and went back to the office.

Did Chris think he wasn't good enough for her?

Really?

Chris was so fucking arrogant, she found it hard to imagine that he thought like that. He's not arrogant, her brain said, confident sure. But he's got the goods to back it up. And he's so fucking laid back he just agreed and stepped aside when you told him to cool things off.

Maybe, her brain said, it's because he's never felt good enough for you. She didn't know what to think about that. The truth was, he was TOO good for her. She was a nobody. Guys didn't marry Jill Valentine. She hadn't ever thought that Chris would end up with her right? Nope. He could do better.

She was a little surprised to find her self esteem that low. She liked herself, most of the time. She had her moments of weakness, sure. But mostly, she was a good person with a lot of potential. But Chris? He saw the good in everyone. He was just that guy. He was handsome and funny and charming and smart. HE was the tits. Not her. How could everyone be blind to that?

She waited in the lobby for him until half passed six. He finally came down from the conference room and tossed her the keys to his Bronco. "You ok to get home?"

"Why?"

"I'm gonna keep hanging here I think. We're on a roll up there. I'm gonna go with Gia to get some dinner and we're gonna come back here and keep going at it."

Jill licked her teeth. "Are ya? Are ya gonna "go at it"?"

Oh. This was a nice moment. His face registered surprise. And finally? Amusement.

"She's pretty hot right? I'm thinkin about it. See ya later right? Don't wait up." And he bumped fists with her and went back up the stairs. "Thanks, kid. Be safe out there."

Jill stood there for a long moment. She picked up her bag from the floor and finally went out into the rain. She opened the passenger door to the Bronco and climbed in to slide to the driver's seat. She cranked the crappy old engine over and pulled away from the curb.

She drove home in silence. And she sat there in front of the house while the Bronco idled in the street.

She'd done this to herself right? She'd given him his walking papers. Did she think he'd stick around?

Well maybe she thought he'd wait longer than ONE FUCKING DAY.

Objectively, her mind said, he's not yours. You never said he was. You said you wanted to be kinda a thing one day and changed your mind the next. He's probably THRILLED to be rid of you. Leave him alone to get his freak on with the witch chic and shut up about it.

Taking her own advice, she went into the house and started cooking some dinner. The rain continued, causing flooding down off Flynt River Bridge. Wesker put out a call for sandbaggers and she went down to help.

She got home about midnight. He wasn't there.

He didn't come home all night.

At about three a.m. she figured that was it. That was what happened right? Close the door and leave it closed.

She drove the Bronco to work in the morning and went up to her desk. She hadn't worn the beret today. She'd curled her hair and fixed it. She threw on makeup. If she was going back on the market, she was going back guns blazing.

She sat down, turned on her computer, and rolled her head. "Hey Joe!"

"Sup?"

"Give the guy at the gym my number."

"Good call, Valentine. Get back out there. Rock on."

Across from her, Chris was shaking his head. She lifted her brows at him, "Long night?"

"Seems that way."

"Hmm." She tossed him his keys. He caught them, watching her face.

"Keep 'em. You can't ride your bike in this rain."

"I'm gonna get my own car today. I think. So thanks but I'm good."

Chris shrugged and pocketed his keys. Jill filled out reports and finally stood up. She went to Wesker's office and knocked.

When he called for her to come in, she went in, closed the door, and sat down across from him.

"Sir? I'd like permission to consider switching to Bravo team."

Wesker set down his reports. He scanned her face. So that was how the wind blew. Who was the problem here? He studied her face. She waited, patiently. She didn't look upset. But she did look serious.

"Working with Chris is a problem?"

"No. Not at all. Chris is always polite. Always professional. I would like the experience of working with other women. For a little while."

"I see. This is understandable. Bravo is actually going to do a prisoner escort this afternoon. You could accompany Rebecca Chambers. Until we have more information on the movement of the cult or the cannibals, you're limited here anyway. I don't see a problem with assigning you temporarily to Bravo."

"Thank you sir."

"Should the move need to be permanent, let me know soon. I will need to replace you on Alpha team."

"Not necessary sir. Just want to help."

"Understood. I will see you on the mat this afternoon?"

"Yes sir. I wouldn't miss it."

"Good. Dismissed."

Jill nodded and left the office. She closed the door quietly and went to her desk. She gathered up her things, putting them in a little pack from the lockers they had.

Brad said, "What's up, Valentine?"

"I'm being temporarily assigned to Bravo team. So you guys will be without this gorgeous face for awhile."

Barry remarked, "What the hell for?" And he sounded irate.

"They need some help. I'm useless with this witchcraft shit. You guys have an expert consultant attached to help. You don't need me. So I'm out for awhile."

She felt him watching her. She kept her eyes on her desk.

Joseph said, "That's bullshit. Bravo is where the babies roll."

"Maybe I can teach them a thing or two. Gonna miss me?"

Joseph snorted, "Yeah I am. Who else has an ass like yours?"

Jill chuckled, "You charmer." She looped her little pack around her shoulders. "I'll be back soon enough guys. See ya."

She holstered her pistol and left the office.

There. Easy enough. It was easy enough to take that break she needed. She got to run around with Bravo for a few days and Chris could chill with his new girlfriend and there wouldn't be any tension.

She went out into the rain, put up her red and white Umbrella with the company logo slapped across it, and hurried into town toward the car lot. First things first, she needed wheels. Enough relying on Chris Redfield to take care of her. Stupid.

Stupid girl.

One day? Her heart said. What a douche bag. One fucking day. That's all you got. Asshole.

At his desk, Chris was rolling a quarter in his palm. What shit was this now? What was she playing at here? What had Claire said? Bad news. Was she? Was Jill bad news?

Objectively, she was a mess. She was so scared of committing to anything she, instead, tried to sabotage her own life. He knew she was damaged. He'd learned that in the first ten minutes he'd known her. She was missing some part of her that was trying to be normal. She was kinda dark and twisty. She was no bullshit. So what was this?

Was she avoiding him?

His mind said: you ever think it ain't about you, Redfield? Maybe she legitimately just needs a break. She was RIGHT about taking a step back from each other at work. She was right about it fucking up the dynamic here if you got too deep on it.

So leave it the fuck alone.

He put it away and went back to work.

Jill purchased a little blue VW bug. It was older and needed some work. But she knew what she was doing there. She felt like a million dollars as she drove it back to the station and parked.

She was on her way back to herself here. She'd kick Wesker's ass on the mat and she'd go back to being BFF's with Chris. She'd fix the sloppy pieces of her life and make it better. She was feeling pretty good about herself.

Before she went down to face Wesker on the mat that day, she even tossed the whoopie cushion into Chris' chair in the office. She was headed downstairs when she heard it go off. And the laughter that followed.

Wesker worked with her on movement. He showed her how to shift, how to lift, how to redirect. He taught her about control. Instead of diving, he taught her to time her roll. She followed him into various strikes and parries.

About twenty minutes into the exercise, she realized she kinda liked him. They weren't going to be friends or anything but he wasn't creepy to her anymore. He was dedicated. And clearly intelligent. She hadn't thought of him as creepy in weeks now. He had a drive that was not only admirable, it was amazing. He was…no bullshit.

And so she had to respect him.

When they finished up, she sipped her water and said, "Sir, I want to personally apologize for my actions in your office with Chris. That was stupid, it was juvenile and it was petty. I haven't done my job, sir, in the weeks since we started working together. I haven't given you the obedience or the loyalty you asked for in that interview. But you have it now, sir. Without question."

Impressed, breathing heavily, Wesker watched her for a moment. And he finally smiled a little. And it wasn't creepy at all. "Thank you. I will see you in the morning."

"Yes sir. I'm off to help with the prisoner escort."

"Good."

"Have a nice night, sir." She picked up her bag and went into the shower. Wesker nodded a little. Perfect. The break with Redfield had turned her focus back to the job and the purpose here. Good, let the end of that fester for awhile.

He needed their unquestioning loyalty. If their relationship was in the way of that, he would need it carefully disassembled and put on hold. It seems they'd done that themselves already.

Good.

Jill came into the house a little after seven from the prisoner transport. Chris was on the couch in his sleeping pants playing the zombie game. She gave him a head nod as she crossed through the living room.

"Sup."

"Sup."

She went into her room and closed the door.

Sighing, he leaned back on the couch and scratched his stomach. He hated this girl shit. Emotional landmines and what not. What did she want here?

She came back out in a little denim skirt, knee high boots, and a purple tube top. He blinked at her.

She said, "Wish me luck. Mama gots herself a hot date."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yup. Met him when I bought my new ride today. He's uber hot. Works at the pub downtown. Total sex on a stick." She put her fist out for him to bump it. "Don't forget to lock up before you rack out ok?"

"Yep. Not comin back tonight huh?"

"That's a negatory. See ya, Red."

"Yep."

He flopped back on the couch and listened to her little car pull away. Shit. So that's how it was. Just like that.

He said, out loud, "Shit."

She not only didn't come back that night. She didn't come back home for three days. She was working with Bravo and he didn't see her. They were never in the house at the same time. He could tell she'd been there of course. She got clothes, she left. She fist bumped him when she found him in passing at the station.

He looked across at her empty desk and missed her. The whoopie cushion appeared in random locations. Which was always funny. He left off a stink bomb in her face through the cracked window one day. She let the air out of his tires.

They continued to tease and prank each other. But where was she?

She just wasn't there.

She was in the lobby one day after work. He knew she was tits deep on working with Wesker. She was always training with him. If you couldn't find her, she was usually on the mat and learning.

But she was in the lobby laughing and wearing some kind of excuse for a dress. Her dark hair was glossy and sleek. The little green tube dress she wore barely covered anything and somehow covered everything.

She saw him coming and waved. "Hey! Hey, Chris this is Derek."

Derek looked like a turd. He was tall and muscular and polite. He shook hands like he was trying to reduce the other man to a puddle of piss on the floor. Chris returned the pressure, waited for the other man to flinch around the eyes with it, and let go of his hand when he did.

"So this is the guy getting all your time these days huh?"

"Yep." Jill grinned, happily, and put her head on Derek's shoulder. "Not exactly my type I know. But what I can say? He's so funny!"

Derek eyed him steadily. Chris lifted a brow. "Awesome. You ever plan on being home? Or you want me to rent your room out to someone else?"

Jill chuckled and shrugged. "You want me to move out?"

Ok. Yeah. Enough of this shit, Chris thought, whatever game she was playing. He was done playing. If it was just friends again, then so be it. He wasn't chasing her around anymore trying to see her. Stupid girl, his mind admonished, your loss.

"Whatever you want right? See ya."

And he went on out into the rain.

Up until that point, he'd figured maybe she was just taking a breather or something. It was the first real time he'd discovered she was just done with him. Fine. No harm and no foul. He kinda felt stupid hanging around waiting for her. So it was time to just leave it be.

It wasn't her fault he was still waiting around like a love sick idiot. She'd never made promises or asked him to do that. And there was no reason to be mad at her about it. Friends, she'd said once, that's all it was.

So that was all it would be. He wasn't the type of guy to hurt her for it or dwell on it. She was clearly done. So he would be too.

Better that way, he mused, everybody goes on with their business. So he'd let her do that and move on. It's just the type of guy he was.

She came home around midnight and went into the kitchen to get a beer. She was popping the top when she heard him coming down the hallway. She turned and smiled and stopped.

Nope, she thought, not him. Gia the witch was moving toward the fridge. In his shirt. She was in his shirt. His RPD sweatshirt. Right.

Gia said, "Oh Jill! Good to see you. Do you mind?"

Jill shifted and Gia went into the fridge to get a beer. She smiled at her, "You look lovely."

Jill smiled back, "Thanks." And it almost choked her to say it.

"Well…good night."

She went back down the hallway.

Jill stood there with the beer half to her mouth. She blinked. She blinked again. She put the beer down on the counter untouched.

She went out into the garage and wrapped her hands. She set her purse down, rolled her shoulders and went to town on the heavy bag.

She heard him come out. She kept on hitting the bag.

"Hey."

"Hey." She kept on hitting the bag.

"You left your beer."

"Keep it. I don't want it."

Chris leaned on the wall, watching her. "Where's the stupid boyfriend?"

Jill laughed a little, "He's not my boyfriend. And he's at work. He works nights."

"You want to talk about Gia?"

"Nope. Not my fucking business. Not even a little bit."

"Alrighty."

She hit the heavy bag so hard that it made her gasp. It rang down her arm and stole her breath.

"Hey," He said, "Take it easy, kid. You're gonna break your wrist."

Jill laughed, harshly, "Go away, Red. Please. I didn't ask you to come out here and lecture me on how to hit a punching bag. So just go fuck your girlfriend and leave me alone."

She hit the bag again and hurt herself. He saw it happen. She recoiled from it and grabbed the work bench behind her.

"Fucking Christ, Jill. I told you." He tried to take her hand to look at it and she pushed him away.

"Yeah! You told me. Good for you. You told me. Awesome. You're right again. Chris Redfield is always right isn't he? Never wrong."

"I have my moments."

"Go away. You fucking idiot. Just go away."

He watched her and tried to discern her moods. She was a mystery here. She was cool and she wasn't. She was jealous and she wasn't. What did she want here?

"I'm not a mind reader, Jill. Tell me what you want. You blow me off, you bring me back. You blow me off. I don't do games. We said no games remember? I'm holding up my end of the deal. Why aren't you?"

A fair question, Jill admitted, a fair question.

"I'm not playing games. I'm sorry. I'm just…I don't know what happened here." She looked at his face. "What happened here?"

"What do you mean?"

"We're best friends. We're lovers. We're best friends. We're not even friends any more. What happened?"

"I don't know. You've been a little fucking messy for me lately. I don't know what you want here."

"I'm sorry. Shit." She leapt on the work bench. "Let's try this again. You like Gia huh? She's your type so that makes perfect sense."

"What's my type?"

"You know…leggy and tall. Big boobs. Smart."

He nodded a little. "Yeah. That's my type."

"Yup. I like her. She seems nice. Go back inside to her. I'm sorry for being a rag. I'll be nice about your stupid girlfriend."

He laughed a little. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Just taking a ride on the freight train huh?"

"It would seem that way. Tell me we're ok here, Jill. I don't want you to move out and I don't this weird here with us."

"We're good. Go nail the witch. I'm gonna take a walk and try to figure out what's swirling around in my head. I didn't want to get to this place with us. I should have stayed off you in that fucking Bronco that first time. I knew it would land me here."

"Where is here?"

"Lost. Trying to figure out how to be your friend and work with you and not get attached."

He studied her face. "Gimme a minute to get rid of the witch."

"No. No. Seriously don't do that. It's not her fault. Or yours. Go back inside and give her a free ride on the train. I'll be fine."

"Shut up, you idiot woman. Gimme a minute."

True to form, he came back after a couple minutes. They struck up some smokes and camped on the floor of the garage.

"Start talking, kid."

"You don't find this shit with us confusing?"

Chris took a slow drag on his cigarette. "Let me level with you here. I'm not confused. Not at all. Ok that's not true. Right now I'm fucking confused. You don't know what you want, Jill. Which is fine. Most of us don't. But don't be afraid to fucking talk to me about it. This? You and me? It's the best thing I've got going. Don't punish me for something I don't understand here. TALK to me."

Jill sighed a little and rolled onto her back on the dirty floor. He laid down beside her.

"I want to impress Wesker. Ya know? I want him to respect me. I can't do that if I've got my hands in your pants all the time."

Chris rolled to one arm to watch her and listen.

"So I figure, maybe we just take a break."

"Yeah, I got that part."

"One day?"

"What?"

"You waited ONE DAY to move on."

Oh. He blinked. He blinked again. Was it that simple? Really? "You jealous?"

"Yeah." Jill laughed, "Which sucks for me. I didn't WANT that, you know? I didn't want to think about you like that. So I figured…ok. Just..move on. So I did that. And then I show up here and there she is. And she's…your type. And she's perfect. She is. You deserve that. Guy like you? Who are we kidding here?"

"I don't even know what that means."

"You're a catch, dude. Ya know? You got this humor thing happening and you're a gentleman and you have a big dick. So that's like the trifecta of awesome. And she's smart and she clearly went to a good school and she's got money and she wears fancy expensive clothes. I bet she's kind and generous and loves babies."

Chris laughed a little bit.

"What am I? I'm the thief's daughter. I'm just a girl who lured you onto your boss' desk and nearly got you fired. So who can blame you here?"

"Cut the shit, Jill. What do you want?"

Jill shook her head and sat up. "Nope. No. What do YOU want? We always talk about me. It's always me calling the shots, laying down the rules, throwing down the sex. You? You show up, fuck me bowlegged and toss a whoopie cushion under my ass. What do you want, Chris? No more games right? Out with it."

Chris stayed on the floor, looking up the at ceiling. "I want to be your guy."

"You ARE my guy."

"Then I'm happy."

She studied his face. "Idiot."

"…is that a compliment? You should work on your people skills a little."

Jill sighed. "Can you be serious? Ever?"

"Jill, I can be happy with whatever. I'm not that fucking complicated here. I can be your guy or be your friend or be your enemy. Whatever you want. I don't sit around worrying about shit I can't change. I don't chase girls who don't want me to catch them. I don't dwell in things I can't have. You don't want me? That's fine. It is. I'll get over it. And I'll still be your friend. I meant it. You're my best friend. It's that easy or that complicated. Your choice." He rolled to his feet.

She sighed a little again. And rose from the ground. "That's not an answer."

"It is. It's a good answer."

"It's a cop out. And you never once, ever, said what you wanted. You just told me what you thought I wanted to hear. That's not the same thing at all."

She walked into the house.

He paused, considered, and figured out she was fucking right. He'd just told her what she wanted to hear. He'd just spoon fed her the same shit he'd been feeding himself from the moment he met her.

Wow.

He was THAT guy.

He followed her into the house. So then it was time to NOT be that guy. Chris followed her into the bedroom.

She was unzipping her boots. "What?"

"Looks like we're both playing games here. I'm sorry."

Jill blinked. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. I wasn't doing it on purpose. Swear to god. But yeah, I've gotten into the habit of just being the guy who is laid back and shrugs. Safer that way? Something. But I just don't dwell on stuff. So I pretend it doesn't hurt. You rolled into bed with me, crying, and offered to be mine. Kinda. So I was cool. I was happy. You backpedaled and kicked me in the fucking heart."

She winced at the imagery of that. "And I was pissed. But I swallowed that too. I know you're a mess. I know you're twisty. I know you're not like any other woman I've ever met."

"I'm sorry."

"No. Don't be sorry. No more fucking sorry here, Jill. This is complicated with us. We wanted it easy and it wasn't. Ever." He rolled his neck a little. Throw down or go down, he thought, and threw down. "I'm in love with you."

"Chris…" It was a quiet gasp.

"I am. There. That's what I want. I want to get over those fucking walls you've got built so high around you that I can't even see the real you. I want you to let me in. It's scary. It is. But I absolutely will not fail you, Jill. Let me in. That's what I want."

Jill watched him in the darkness of the room. "What about work?"

"What about it? It doesn't have to have a damn thing to do with work. Letting me in? It comes with nothing but me. That's it. You get me. I'm not some idiot with long hair and a guitar. I'm pretty stupid and often have my foot in my mouth. But you get me. If you can't? I meant the other part too. That's ok. Just say it. And we can go back to being friends. Your choice."

"I told you not to fall in love with me."

"Well I was already in love with you then anyway. So l lied."

And now she laughed. She laughed and moved across the room. She wrapped her arms around his waist. "Idiot."

"I am."

"Fuck. This is what I fucking said would happen. This is all your fault."

"I'm ok with it." He grabbed her face and turned it up to him. "What's your answer?"

"Shit."

"…that's a terrible answer."

Jill laughed and rose on her tip toes. "I'm scared to lose you."

"Only fucking way you ever win is to take the risk of losing everything."

He was pretty wise for a big idiot. A big idiot that was kinda awesome. And kinda everything. "Ok. I love you."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. I love you. Scares me stupid."

"Me too. So let's just get naked and I'll put my dick in you and you won't be scared anymore."

And now she was laughing as they leapt up on the bed together. He rolled atop her and scooped her hair from her face. "You wanna be my girl, Jill Valentine?"

"Shit."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes. And a mess. What about the witch?"

"We hadn't got to the freight train yet. I was working on it. But you showed up in the nick of time and saved my dignity from her corruption."

"She was in your shirt."

"Yep. We were naked. We just weren't naked and porking."

"Chris Redfield….you are such a romantic soul."

"It's my curse on the world. What about the stupid boyfriend?"

"He never even got to see me naked."

He kissed her. It was deep, hot, and stole her breath. She gasped, grabbing his face. "I love you."

He kissed her again. She opened her legs and slid them around him. They shared the wet wonder of it for a long moment until they were both breathless.

He said, "Say it again."

"I love you."

He hiked up her dress and made her gasp. She slid her panties to the side and he shoved against her body. It was…it was something. It was something scary and brutal and real. She opened her legs wider and pushed his pants the rest of the way down his legs.

When he was buried in her, they both were trembling with it. Of course, she thought, he'd stop looking for a condom. He was her guy. Isn't that what he said? He'd stop wearing one when he was her guy.

His face, she thought desperately, his face was crazy for her. It scared her death and she coveted it like a drug. He was going to kill her fast or kill her slow or love her to death. And she wanted to know, for the first time ever, what that was like.

His voice was low and scratchy when he said, "Yeah. That's what I want. I fucking love you, Jill. One way or another, that's how it is."

"Jesus. We are so fucking screwed."

And they laughed while they laid in the dark, lost in each other.


	5. Chapter 5

+Author's note:

Smut. A little cameo. Mostly love story building here. And fun. Fun. We'll be getting to the Spencer Estates in the next few chapters. But we need to let these two and Wesker build the trust and the love a little more. Wesker…is developing. Where he goes? Somewhere scary I'm sure. Read on, run away –reader's choice.

:P

Slainte.

….

V: Valenfield…and Dog

:::::::::::::FIVE::::::::::::::

So, what happened when you were in love with Chris Redfield? Apparently, it meant he cooked you spaghetti and stole your meatballs. Apparently, it meant he kissed your neck while you played video games. Apparently, it meant he mowed the grass shirtless while you drank lemonade and watched raptly…along with the widow across the street that was using her hose to water her plants for entirely too long. But who could blame her? It was a show. Apparently, it meant you sat on his back while he did push ups while you watched Jerry Springer. Apparently, it meant you talked…and talked..and talked about everything. Apparently, it meant you danced in the kitchen for no reason at all. Chris was really kinda awful at dancing. And it was wonderful. He was big on laughter.

BIG on laughter. He was always keeping her laughing. From the foghorn in the morning scaring the piss out of her to the Nerf gun war that ended up catching the stove on fire somehow. To the world's longest game of hide and seek that went well past midnight and the time they bought giant inflatable balls, got inside them, and went racing down the street like bubble people. Chris didn't stop laughing.

She came home one day to find a trampoline out back. And they took turns doing flip kicks. Sometime around midnight, he carried her out to it and loved her on it while the crickets chirped. Gentle was what he was when you weren't looking. And he was always looking into her eyes. Always. A direct man on the best of days, when you loved him? He was always looking at you.

It made you feel like you might know all the secrets to the universe.

He wasn't shy about showing her how he felt. Nope. He did little things to show it. He bought the fruit she liked, he cleaned up after her without a word, he made her bed for her…although she never slept in it anymore really. And he taught her how to tackle, how to take a punch, how to anticipate one. She taught him how to back flip. Sorta. He wasn't great but he was eager. The falling down was comic and endearing. But Chris? He kept getting up. He kept trying again. He never gave up.

The intelligence on his face was breathtaking. He listened when she talked, he paid attention to her words and remembered them. He watched her all the time and made her feel a little giddy with it. She caught him looking one afternoon while she was doing laundry. He was just standing there looking at her.

She said, "What?"

And he answered, "I'm kinda nuts for you, Valentine."

And he was just like that too. No bullshit. You just felt good when you were with him and light. He didn't muddy anything. He didn't fake. He didn't hide. He was just out there, just loving you, just living with you.

He was all kinds of wonderful. He juggled vegetables while he cooked. And he cooked a lot. He said, "My parents wouldn't let you eat if you didn't learn." And he was good at it.

His magic tricks were astounding. He disappeared an entire rubber chicken once. Right in front of her. She found it in her car. How? He'd ALWAYS find her card. His sleight of hand was impossible to catch. He liked his video games and loved for her to sit in front him while he played.

Jill was always finding little stuff left around for her. Her favorite shampoo, her favorite flowers on the table, her favorite author's new book on the night stand. He just got her and didn't expect anything with the gesture of it. Her clothes were always mended without a word. She took care of the cars and the maintenance. She fixed the stuff in the house. She was happy to.

She started making efforts to please him too. She went to the farmer's market and bought all the local produce he liked. She bought him an electric razor because he was always forgetting to change blades on his. She cleaned his guns for him and even modified the magazine on his .45 to hold more rounds. She bought little massage oils to rub him down after he got sore fighting the heavy bag.

One day she got a phone call from Harris County in Pennsylvania, Henri was back in lock up. She hadn't even known he was out to begin with. He was such a terrible father. She'd hid the sadness of it but he could see it. He was good at it.

She came in from the grocery store and dumped her bags on the table. Sitting on the floor was…possibly a dog. Or possibly the ugliest beast ever born. It was hairy, kinda, and had pokey ears and big bat eyes. It was just watching her.

Jill called, "Chris? There's…something out here looking at me."

And Chris came out of the bathroom, shirtless, spotted with shaving cream. "Yeah? Oh…yeah. That's Dog."

Jill looked at his face. "I see that it's a dog."

"Not A dog. Just Dog. That's his name. Dog."

"….you named the dog…Dog?"

"Yup. I found him at the pound today. They were gonna you know…" Chris sliced across his throat with a thumb, "So I figured..what the hell? I'd get you a dog. Save a life, make your woman smile. Twofer."

"….you got me a dog?"

"Yep."

"Do I want a dog?"

"You do. You've been so sad. Dog is fun. He doesn't chew shit. He mostly just lies around and plays frisbee. He likes hugs. He's a good dude."

Jill petted Dog. The ugly mutt grinned foolishly at her. His tongued lolled stupidly. He leapt up and licked her face. Jill stared at him with his paws on her shoulders.

Chris said, "Give him a hug. It's what he wants."

She hugged Dog. Dog got down and padded off to lay down.

"See? He just wants love. He's a big goof."

Jill turned to look at him. Chris grinned at her with shaving cream all over his face. She looked at him objectively. He was bigger than he'd been a month ago. Headed toward those big guns he was trying to get. His boombox was blaring somewhere in the house. His belly was flat and taut and muscled. Gorgeous, she thought, had he always been?

He bought her a fucking mutt to make her smile.

She hooked a hand into his waistband and pulled him to her. He was still grinning when he kissed her, smearing her face with shaving cream. She drew back to see him. "You're a big goof."

Chris laughed, "You like Dog?"

"He's ok. I like you."

"Ditto, kiddo." And he picked her up against his front to kiss her again while her feet dangled.

Dog was awesome. He was friendly and charming and stupid looking. She didn't know what the hell kind of breed he was meant to be. But he liked to watch her play video games and he slept on the floor of the bed. He liked to stare at cats and eat pickles. He was good on a leash. She wondered why someone wouldn't want him.

She said, "Some idiot just got rid of you, dude. Why wouldn't someone love you?"

Chris thought, click. The girl who thought no one loved her and the dog who thought the same. Click click click. They were made for each other.

Dog went on runs with her. They ate hotdogs and watched reruns of the Melrose Place and 90210. Dog wasn't fond of Dylan either. "Right?" Jill said, laughing, "What an asshat."

Dog was her best four legged friend.

Her best two legged one? He was always doing stuff to make her feel special. He bought her a baseball hat with her name inscribed on the side. One day he told her a dirty poem he'd written about her. Not at ALL romantic but it made her laugh and kinda turned her on. He was the dirty Dr. Seuss.

She was a sexual tornado. He couldn't figure out where she'd blow him over twice. He was trying to clean his gun one day and she went under the table, unzipped him, and went to town. He nearly shot her before he could put down the pistol and grab her hair. He couldn't take a shower alone. Ever. Which was awesome. She was always in there like a slippery little sex mermaid.

He was fixing the gutters on the back of the house one day on a god damn ladder and there it was, the unzipping. He had to grab the roof to keep from falling off the ladder and killing himself. Objectively, it would have been a good way to die. She was a goddess at putting her mouth on him. He'd bragged about going down. Nope. It was her. She was all about it.

He was playing the zombie game when she came in from the gym one day. He said, "You want to give it a whirl?" And offered her the controller.

She glanced at him and at Dog snoring in the corner on his bed and said, "Yeah. Alright. I'll play."

She didn't grab the controller. She grabbed his dick. And said, "Keep playing dude. Seriously." As she tried to suck his brains out of his cock. He kept playing. He died, tragically, since he couldn't focus anyway. But it was worth it.

His hands were always on her tits. Always. Pretty much 24/7 when they were home. She stopped wearing bras to take away the barrier. He watched tv playing with her boobs. He read witness reports playing with her boobs. Boobs, all the time. It was his thing.

Happy, Jill thought, they were just…happy. I won't fail you, he said, and he didn't. He just loved her. And she loved him. It was good. It was all good, all the time. They never fought. It was impossible to fight with Chris. He was so god damn good natured that you ended up laughing.

At work, they were friendly and funny and constantly goofing off but not touchy. The jokes were wonderful and stupid and silly. She put a fake turd in his chair during a meeting and made everyone laugh. He put temporary hair color in her beret and she ended up with pink streaks for a week. She fixed his boots so they somehow squeaked or farted every time he took a step. The whoopie cushion was her constant plague. It was in the office, in the conference room, in the gym during simulations. She strung his boxers up on the corkboard at work with a sign the said: Found at The Leather Den. Please see Chris Redfield to claim them. The Leather Den was the known gay S&M bar down the road. He got the woman who did announcements for the station to go over the PA one morning and say, "Jill Valentine, please come to reception. Your shipment of anal suppositories has arrived."

Brad fell over laughing. Barry snorted. Joseph said, "A good cup of coffee and a bran muffin will fix that, Valentine. Just sayin."

Jill glanced at his face, twitching her mouth. Chris shrugged.

He was having lunch with a bunch of guys in the cafeteria. She walked over and dumped mayonnaise all over his nachos. He looked at them forlornly. She laughed and walked off.

He had EVERYONE hitting on her. He had to be paying people to do it. Seriously. Guys were constantly asking her out. She could do anything but laugh.

She put laxative in his coffee one morning. And he spent the rest of the day shitting his guts out. He kept leaping up and running to the bathroom during their meeting with Gia and Wesker. It was the best revenge ever.

Gia was too good natured not to like. She was flirty with Chris but seemed harmless. However he'd blown her off that night hadn't made any waves. She was smart and helpful. Jill felt like they were closing in on the witches every day.

She heard the laughter and looked up. She followed the laughter to the window to look out and down. There were condoms all over her car. Everywhere. Some were blown up and in little balloon animals. Some were in the shape of dicks and flapping in the wind. A wavy tube man was whipping and rolling in the wind to bring attention to it. The car was STUFFED with them as well. It was colorful and creative…damn him.

Chris was writing in his witness reports and very, very bland faced.

Brad was laughing, "Can I borrow some?"

Jill snorted, "Who would you use them with Vickers?"

Joseph hooted out a laugh. "Right? You even HAVE a dick, Brad?"

Barry was chuckling, "Maybe he uses them to protect his tube socks."

Brad was offended. "I get laid dude. ALL THE TIME."

Chris said, "Brad, without trying, name ONE GIRL you've fucked in the last year."

Brad was red faced and mad now. Barry was laughing. Joseph slapped him on the back, good naturedly. "Don't worry, Vickers. There's a girl out there for you."

Brad gave them all the finger.

Amused, Jill walked over and said, "You realize…naturally…that you are going down."

Chris kept his face straight, somehow, and said, "Yeah? I'm good at going down."

Joseph snorted out another laugh. "I actually heard that about you dude."

Damn him. Now she was kinda turned on. She slapped him in the back of the head and had him laughing. Chris winked at her. Jill rolled her eyes.

She sat down at her desk…and got whoopied.

And that was it. The fart filled the office and she just started laughing. She laughed and laughed and laughed. They all did. She realized that she had never been so happy. He made her happy. And she loved him a lot.

Her training with Wesker was coming along as well. He was fucking smarter than anyone she'd ever met. He was all drive and determination. He taught her to shift and roll and drop without losing her focus. When he spoke, she listened. He wasn't in the least creepy to her now. He had more intelligence and skill than she could even begin to understand. He instructed, inspected, assessed and revised when a level of training was too complex or too simple.

He pushed her, paced her, praised her and punished her when necessary. She kept missing the timing on her flip kicks one day. He kicked her over so hard that it scared her and she skidded over the mat, curled around the pain. He pulled her up and shook her. "You're better than this! Commit! Or get the hell off my mat!"

She rolled, dropped her elbow to break his hold, and foot swept him. He went down on his back and she leapt on him, straddling him and pinning his arms down. She yelled back at him, "I'm only as good as my teacher! TEACH ME! And stop fucking around!"

Brave. Possibly stupid but brave. Impressed, he looked up at her. And, again, he had that feeling of wanting to own her. And interesting premise for a man like him. He wanted to own her. Why? The pleasing promise of a puppet? Or was it more primal than that? He watched the heave of her bosom, felt her body on him, but it wasn't that. It could be, with enough interest, he could make it physical. But he wasn't interested in that, not really. He wanted her drive, her passion, her purpose. He wanted to see how far she'd go down the rabbit hole. He craved it. And maybe he saw some of his own darkness on her as well. She was a fascinating creature.

It worked. He stopped fucking around. He pulled out all the stops and he started to really teach her. He started slapping her around without pulling it. He spoke of grit and determination. He taught her to fly -speed and skill and sticking to it when you were down and done. He was determined to break her out of her shell.

Apparently, being Wesker's protégé came with respect from your teammates and your coworkers.

Apparently, loving Chris Redfield came with coming out of the gym to find a cheerleading squad doing their own personal cheer for you. She watched him on the balcony while they started screaming her name and shouting about being aggressive. He chuckled and shrugged.

He wasn't laughing when he came out of the shower in the gym and had no clothes. There was…a tiny towel and a treasure map. He had to go around the station with his little buttcheeks hanging out of that tiny towel while he tried to find his clothes. He got hit on quite a bit by both men and women…and most of the hookers in chairs. Jill had kindly left his underwear hanging from the ceiling fan in chairs. What a pal.

Jill saluted him from the balcony as he crossed the lobby in his boxers and his shoulder holster. Someone hooted and said, "Dance, Redfield!"

Ryman. He was good fun.

So? Chris Redfield danced. Jill threw her hand to her collarbone and laughed. Someone turned on a boombox with an Usher song blaring. And he just…he danced. It was…the best thing she'd seen in days. There was whistling and whooping. It was something to see. His rhythm? Awful. His enthusiasm? Amazeballs.

Gia was whistling and there was too much grinning. Too much grinning. Jill hated the grinning. Amused at herself for the jealousy, she enjoyed the show anyway.

There was a clatter beside her and one of the rookies interviewing for a job had completely knocked over the coffee cart. With sympathy, Jill went to help clean it up.

"Hey thanks."

She glanced up at the face that went with the voice. It was a fucking great face. All kinds of handsome. Lots of super hot hair and big blue eyes. She grinned a little. What was it Chris was saying? Pretty boy. He was pretty.

He was also dressed in Valentino. A dove gray suit with a perfectly knotted and expensive blue silk tie. He knew what he was wearing, clearly. That suit cost more than a rookie made in a month.

She said, "No problem. Nervous?"

"God yes."

"Don't be. You'll be fine." She studied him and blinked. She'd seen him before now that she thought about it. He'd been the kid on the range that drilled the target three times in a row in the same hole. And she added, "I've seen you shoot. You're fucking aces, kid. This your second interview?"

"Yeah? Yeah, it is."

"You're gold, dude. Seriously. I've never seen anyone shoot like that. You going out for S.T.A.R.S.?"

He flushed a little, charming the hell out of her. He was a baby. A delicious baby but a baby none the less."God, no. Ha. I'm graduating from the academy in a few months. Just looking for an assignment as far from home as possible."

"I know that story. I'm Jill." They rose and shook hands. Good grip and he didn't try to impress her with this strength. He smiled and it was sex on a stick yummy.

"I'm Leon. Leon Kennedy. Thanks for helping."

"You bet, Leon Kennedy. Listen, if you interview with Irons and Wesker, just keep things focused on your skills. Don't worry about any of that shit they tell you in business class. It doesn't matter here. You have an eagle eye which means you're halfway there. Grace under pressure? That's the ticket."

He grinned at her again, "Thanks. I will." He gestured to the coffee cart, "Interested in piss poor coffee, Jill?"

And now she laughed a little. "I am. Thanks."

He poured her a cup of coffee. Adorable little thing that he was. She thought he was about the cutest thing she'd ever seen. She liked the face. It was gold. The reddish blonde hair was cut and styled pretty fucking awesome. It wasn't a face you forgot.

The laughter from the lobby drew their attention.

Leon said, "Poor dude."

"Don't you feel sorry for him, rookie. He's just fine. He likes the attention."

He also did NOT like her talking to handsome, young, and friendly rookies. His face was not thrilled. Touched by the jealousy, Jill leaned a little closer to the kid just to fuck with him.

He said something funny and Chris watched her touch his arm. Nope. That was it.

Jill saw him coming and loved it. LOVED it. Jealous. Boom.

She said, "Good luck in there, Leon Kennedy. I should run along now before I get you punched in the face."

"…by whom?" Leon queried.

"Whom eh? I love it. Probably the guy in the underwear coming this way."

"He doesn't look too tough. I think I'll risk it. You should stay, enjoy more coffee, and let me buy you dinner after my interview."

Oh. Jill grinned at him. Cocky little guy. She liked him. She said, "Can't do it." And there was Chris coming their way. "Better go. Good luck, rookie. You'll do great. Working here is the tits. But just don't be late, ever. People HATE when you're late."

"Don't worry. I'm never late. You should come back here and have that coffee."

"You adorable little thing. Can't do it. And I'm ALWAYS late. My cross to bear. See you around, Leon Kennedy." Jill ran away now, laughing. She watched Chris shoulder bump the rookie as he went by.

Loving it, she ran off laughing before the revenge could find her.

At her desk later, she felt him watching her. She lifted innocent eyes to his face. "What?"

"Who was the turd?"

"Hmm? Who?"

"You know who, Valentine. Who was the fetus you were flirting with out there?"

"Fetus? You mean that delicious little guy in the suit and tie?"

"….I mean the missing member of Douchey McBoy Band you were slobbering all over."

Barry snorted. Brad said, "Oh that guy? I saw that too. He was hitting on you good, Valentine."

Joseph chuckled, "He's TOTALLY her type."

Barry added, "Oh yeah. That kid? Had Valentine's name all over him."

Tongue in cheek, Jill said, "Oh he tried. He asked me out. Nice kid. Kennedy was his name? I've seen him shoot."

Joseph snapped his fingers, "OH YEAH. I saw him on the range one day. That kid is a fucking natural. Best god damn shot I've ever seen. EVER. Including Wesker. He did the course in like fifteen minutes. It was insane."

Barry was nodding, "Oh yeah. He's from some fancy academy in D.C. He's supposed to be a genius too, I hear."

"Like Chambers?" Brad queried.

"Oh exactly." Barry was typing on his computer now, "He's your type, Jill. You should go for it."

Jill was watching Chris and the humor on her face was bursting. She said, "Maybe I will."

Chris shook his head, snorting. And Brad said, "I heard he beat your score on the course, Red. That sucks for you huh?"

Chris rolled his tongue over his teeth. Jill pursed her lips, biting her lip to stop the grin.

"Yeah? Who cares. Stupid rookies. They came and go."

Jill rose, coughing a little. She said, "I…am going to go see if he's still out there. And find out if he'd like a partner on the range today."

Joseph said, "Rock on, Valentine. Get some."

Brad said, "Hubba Hubba."

She was halfway to the balcony and knew he was back there, following her. She couldn't stop it. She had to start laughing. She ducked into the supply room. A few minutes later, he did too.

She was laughing as he grabbed her to shove her against the wall. Chris was laughing too. "You trying to make me jealous, Valentine?"

"Maybe? Is it working?"

"It might be working." He watched her face. She held his, grinning at him. He kept looking at her mouth. She licked her lips.

"Did you like how it felt? I can keep doing it."

He looked at her mouth again and she shivered with excitement. She liked him jealous. It looked good on him.

But he didn't kiss her. He thrust his hand into her pants and put his fingers in her. She was NOT laughing now. She gasped as he fingered her, fast, faster, and put his other hand over her mouth. He said, softly against her ear, "I don't like being jealous."

His fingers were merciless. She was gasping, gasping and dying. He hissed, softly, "Shh. They'll hear you out there. You want to come?"

Holy god. He was so fucking dirty. She nodded, humping into his hand. He slid his thumb against the apex of her body and stroked her. He pushed her up, threw her into the fire, and watched her come, bucking against his thrusting fingers. His hand slid away to take her moan into his mouth and fill it with his tongue while she shuddered, orgasming into his hand, hot and sticky.

He slid his hand out of her pants and popped their mouths apart. She held on for a moment, shuddering. "Cheese and rice, Red. I'll make you jealous every fucking day from now on."

And he laughed, hugging her.

That was the thing with him. Laughter. It was their bread and butter. It was their cake and cookies. It was their thing. Jill, Chris, and Dog: the three amigos. They went camping and Dog ate all their food while they were hunting up wood for a fire. They played freeze tag and Chris fell asleep waiting for her to tag him. The world's longest on going game of hackey sack lasted six hours and finished when the mailman knocked on the door and Chris dropped the hackey sack.

Jill ran outside whooping and cheering. She made twin pistols with her hands and fired them at him. She did a little jig and stole his fucking heart. Dog watched her from the door, glanced up at Chris, and Chris said, "You want to keep her?"

Dog woofed a little.

"Yeah, me too dude. Seriously."

Jill did a cartwheel and fell. He laughed and whistled.

Apparently, loving Chris Redfield came with laughter.

And apparently, it meant you woke up to find him inside of you at 3 a.m. Jill came awake on fire for it. She had been dreaming about killer tomatoes or something. She realized she was wet and desperate around him. He was all tongue and teeth and thrust of it. I'm good at going down, he said, and he certainly was. He had one hand splayed on her belly and hips while he licked and savored her. Her thighs were over his shoulders as those hands shifted and palmed her breasts.

She came, wetly, gasping from it around the torture of his mouth on her. He licked her clean like she might be the tastiest thing he ever had in his mouth. Like a leviathan, he rose above her and she shivered, swollen and hot and ready for him. He didn't wait, didn't even pause, just took her. Hilt deep in a single thrust, he buried himself inside of her and she wasn't even done coming down from the previous orgasm.

Her eyes flew wide open. He had one of her legs curled over his arm, the other held her down at her collarbone and he was so deeply inside of her she was, reasonably, sure he was thrusting into her chest. Possibly. At the very least? He was thrusting into her heart.

Her hands came up to grab his face. She gasped, "Holy hell."

And he laughed, dark and dirty. He put his face against her neck and kept on going. Her free leg looped around his hip as she moved against him. She was making some kind of sound that might have been a keen. He dropped his hand from her collarbone, flicked lazily over her aching clit, and she was too raw and still reeling from before, it brought her to climax hard and wetly around him.

"Yeah," He whispered quietly against her ear, "Like that?"

Yeah she did. She clearly did. She might have gasped out, "Oh my god." And he had him laughing again.

She came apart around him, rolling through the wet release. Their hands came up and caught above her head now and her legs splayed wide and planted as he rode into her. Someone was making a sound that sounded like unh unh unh over and over. It was her, naturally. And he kept right on laughing breathily while she did it. She didn't care. Not even a little bit. He was gentle and deep and blowing her fucking mind with it. She watched the copper of him in the moonlight between the paleness of her legs in the mirror. It was outstanding, it was ungodly, it was unbelievable.

Jill cried out, finally finished with his smooth, slow, infuriating rhythm. His laughter, breathy and punctuated with that heavy panting of his was driving her insane. It was time to push this race into high gear. She gasped, "Think that's funny huh?" She jerked her hands free and raked them, almost too hard, down his back. There was no laughter now.

Oh no. Chris grunted, hissed and shoved into her once, so hard, it rattled her teeth. She screamed with it. It hurt. Oh yeah, it hurt. She was wet and ready but he was still huge. It fucking hurt.

The pain and pleasure of it warred and raped a gasping moan from her. She humped against his invading cock and excited herself. He rode out and shoved back into her, hard, hard, hard. She screamed again and actually slapped him. She slapped him and pushed on him. She hadn't meant to. Her body was sucking him in even as her mind said: WHOA. That is way too deep. She told her mind to go fuck itself and felt the first raw edge of an awesome orgasm looming. Pain and pleasure, the ultimate pairing. They blended together and made fucking magic…sorta like she and Chris did.

So, she gasped, "Again. Again."

He rode out and shoved back into, hitting the end of her. She slapped him again. Her hands were literally trying to push him off even as she yelled, "Yeah. Again!"

He shifted her hips beneath him, angled her, and shoved into her so deep and fast that she thought he might have killed her. There was, literally, nowhere else for him to go. He was all in, buried, and she screamed again and slapped him. She slapped his face. She hadn't meant to at all.

Her body was THROBBING.

And he went still. "Sorry. Shit. Are you alright?" He leaned up to look into her face.

His hair was sweaty in one eye but his face. It was all concern. And now Jill laughed, gasping with it. "Shut up. And do it."

"Cheese and rice, are you sure? You keep slapping the fuck out of me."

"Hurting you, am I? Can't take it?"

Oh she liked that, she thought wildly, his eyes flared with it. He liked it. Yeah he did. He liked the rough stuff. She'd known that the second he'd spanked her that first time. He liked it rough, did the guy with the enormous dick. Scary. And heady. And awesome for her.

She figured there probably wasn't a lot of girls that could take it rough from a guy this size. She wasn't entirely sure that she could either. But she sure as hell wanted to try.

Jill said, softly, "Think you can break me, big guy? Bet you can't."

He laughed now, breathily and kissed her. She moaned and speared her tongue into his mouth. No wilting kiss, it exploded with teeth and greed. He rolled his body out and thrust into her again, all the way, stealing her breath in a scream that his mouth absorbed. He did it three times in a row, fast and hard, and killed her. She jerked her nails down his back and felt the sticky touch of blood.

Shit.

She hadn't actually meant to hurt him that way. But his face said he didn't give a fuck. He hammered into her twice more and she rose to meet it, impaling herself on him and hurting herself with it. It was so good. So bad. And so painfully pleasurable. It hurt, it throbbed, it felt like fire and fuck and want inside her bones.

She shouted, "Again!" And he shoved her hands over her head, rolled to his knees, and literally, literally, tried to split her in half. He did one good, one deep, one impossibly hard thrust into her body and it was too much and not enough and awful and wonderful and raw. Jill shouted, shoving at him to stop, but she yelled, "God! Do it!"

He didn't want to hurt her. He didn't. But her face…HER FACE…it was all kinds of fucking pleasure and need. He wanted to please her. He wanted to please them both. He wanted to fuck her raw. He was so scared to hurt her. It was messy inside of him. But she jerked her hands free and ran them down his back and she'd bled him. She'd literally drew blood. She wanted it. And he wanted her like some kind of fucking drug in his soul.

She said, "Freight train, god damn you. DO IT!"

He curled his hand around her throat, squeezing enough to bring her gasping and excited to his mouth. He fucked her mouth with his tongue and said, "Now?"

"Now. Hurry!"

Chris dropped and gave her his weight. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders and held on. And he did it. He drilled her body so hard it hit the center of too much and too full and too far and burst her into a thousand pieces.

The pain and the pleasure hit in the center of her body and split apart her skin in a bloody mess. She was screaming, oh yeah she was. Jill wrapped her legs around him and his hands shifted, bracketed her hips, adjusted her up to an angle that was nearly excruciating, and he plowed into her. She went half off the bed with it, grabbing the wall and the nightstand to keep from falling. He grabbed her shoulder and one hip and just kept on going.

Freight train, she thought madly, yep. All the way.

And it was too much, too deep, too hard…she almost yelled out stop and she came. She was there. She came screaming around him while he hammered her so hard her teeth kept snapping together with each thrust. She came so hard it hurt and felt amazing.

He started to pull out to come on her body and she grabbed him, bucking and gasping, she cried, "Boyscout! Give it to me!"

Holy hell she was the hottest woman he'd ever met. He was OBSESSED with her. He held her down with a hand around her throat and rode into her so deep and hard he knew, knew, knew it was going to hurt her for days. His mind said: you are not seriously going to keep coming in this girl right? Good guys don't come in girls.

But good guys didn't fuck them bare back either. He was past the point of caring. He wanted to blow his load up in her and die there. He said, hoarsely, "You want me to come in you?"

"Oh god, yes! NOW!"

Christ.

And he did it. He grunted and dumped wet and hot at the end of her body and ground there inside of her.

She curled around him, shaking and bucking, sweaty and hot. He buried his face against her breasts and pumped through his release. It was…sticky. It was raw. And about two seconds after it ended, it was utterly painful. She felt the ache in her body that told she'd be feeling it for days.

And she loved it.

He rolled her back on the bed with him and she shuddered, pulsing painfully around where he was buried so far in her. Someone kept whispering, "Oh my god."

Of course, it was her.

He slid out of her now and she made a little mewl of pain.

He rose, eyeing her in the darkness. "Shit. Shit. I'm sorry. Are you ok?"

Jill held his gaze for a long moment…and started laughing. She laughed until she was breathless. He grinned and put his ear on her chest. She wrapped her arms and legs around him. "I'm just fine. I think..I may be dead."

"Sorry. I woke up to take a piss. Came back and you were just…you were beautiful. So I thought…she's mine now. I get to fuck her anytime I want. So I did."

Jill thought: Chris Redfield ladies and gentleman, a god in bed…and terrible at romantic speeches. Jill laughed again and held on. "You'd be right. But I don't know how I'm going to walk at work in a few hours."

"He's got you with Bravo still today right? Doing more prison detail? So, you won't be doing shit but lying around all day or sitting in the cruiser with Chambers."

"I don't know about that." She shifted and winced. "Well…that just hurts."

"I broke you."

"Seems that way."

He lifted and looked into her face. She held his look, drolly. And he lifted up, slowly, and high fived himself over her.

Jill stuck her tongue in her cheek. "Did you just congratulate yourself because you broke me?"

"…no?"

"You are a piece of work, Red. Clearly."

He laughed and rolled off her. She flipped on the little light beside the bed. It was bad. His back? It was bad. She winced.

He glanced at it in the mirror. "Well shit. This will get me all KINDS of high fives at work when I'm done doing PT with the guys. I will be, officially, a legend."

"How does that go down with your enormous dick by the way? Are they jealous?"

"Oh yeah. Penis envy is real, dollface. No lie."

"I fucked you up." Jill said laughing.

"Seems that way."

She lifted her hands and high fived herself. He laughed and loved her. He just loved her.

He caught her gaze in the mirror. She kept shifting and wincing. He felt bad about that. He did. But she'd…begged. And he couldn't even begin to describe her face and what it had done to him. But he was a gentleman…sorta. So he was going to help her out.

He disappeared from the room and she put her hand down to touch herself between the legs. Sticky, clearly, from his ejaculate and? She lifted hand. A little blood.

She said, "Damnit."

Because it just plain hurt now. She was sore.

He came back in the bedroom, naked and fucking awesome with it. He picked her up in his arms, said nothing, and took her into the bathroom where he proceeded to set her, gingerly, in a mound of bubbles and hot water. It felt, amazing.

He knelt, skimming her hair back with his hand. He said, "Better?"

And that. THAT. That was why she loved him. He was all proud that he'd fucked her so hard he'd left her broken…kinda. And he was taking care of her now. What a squish.

"Better." Jill affirmed and he dropped his mouth to kiss her.

He said, "I'm gonna get you some water. Just chill out there and soak."

"Thank you. I think I will."

"Awesome. I love you, Jill." And he went to get the water.

Just easy. Just simple. I love you, Jill. Like it was nothing. And it was everything.

He brought the water back and she sat up to sip some. He shifted her and slipped into the water behind her. She leaned back against him and he rubbed her shoulders. He kissed her neck.

Jill sighed with contentment. He slipped a hand down in the water to gently rub at her tender body. She winced but opened her legs to let him massage her. It was very sweet actually considering most men would have just nutted up in her and gone to bed.

He said, "Helping any? Or making it worse?"

Jill smiled and leaned in the circle of his arms. She closed her eyes, smiling. "Not worse. Better. I love you, Chris."

He wondered, honestly, if he'd ever get tired of hearing it. He turned her face and kissed her, smooth and soft. She made a little sound and turned into him. The feisty little thing that she was, swollen, sore, and surely aching and she was still sucking his mouth like she was trying to get him all fired up again.

Laughing, breathless, he turned her back around in the water, "No way, Valentine, you horny thing. You'll hurt yourself worse if you even try."

"I don't care." She rolled over and straddled him. Her mouth was amorous and wet and hungry when she kissed him again. He made some sound and gave in. He kissed her like he'd eat her. She shifted, rubbing over his junk in the water.

His hands came up to play with her tits. He sat up in the water, putting his mouth all over them. She cupped his head and gasped, watching his teeth and tongue devour her. Oh my god, she thought, this is what it looked like to love him.

She tried to grab his dick and stuff it up in her. He shook his head and set her away from him in the water. She made a frustrated sound.

Chris said, "Jilly Bean, if I fuck you again, you really won't be able to walk for a week. Keep it in your pants and be a good girl."

Jill made a little sound and shifted in the water. She eyed him a little. "I bet I could get you to give it me."

"Most likely. I encourage you not to try. I'll hurt you."

"You liked that part."

Hmm. This was a delicate conversation. So he'd have to be careful here. But he wanted to get a point across. Subtlety wasn't his strong suit. "Ok. I enjoy a good rough fucking with a girl, no lie. And I don't get it very often because a lot of girls just…can't. But I do NOT like hurting you. Not like that. I'm actually feeling like a fucking asshole right now because you're so hurt by it. At the time? Kosher. You were screaming and I kept throwing it down to you. That's good sex. After? I felt like a douche."

Jill watched him in the water now, curious. Oh. She studied his face. He did. He really did feel bad about it. Jill tilted her head, watching his face. "You fucking softie. You mean it."

"Oh yeah. Jill, I haven't pounded into a girl in…ever. EVER. Like that. That you took it and kept screaming for more? Hottest god damn thing that's ever went down in my bedroom. No lie. But I don't like seeing you sitting there in the water bleeding afterward. I'm not a fucking monster."

Jill slid through the water and put her arms around him. He held her, stroking her hair. "I know that. I know you don't. I'm sorry it sounded like I did. I like it rough, Chris. And I like it gentle. I just…I like it with you. That's all I got."

Chris rubbed her little butt, holding her. "Same, kid. Clearly. But I'm not going to be freight training on you for a while. Maybe we try the soft stuff and see how it goes."

Jill smiled, loving him. "Maybe we do. You softie."

"Don't tell anyone. Or they'll laugh at me."

…

He whoopied her at work. Why not? He did it. She was barely in the office for more than twenty minutes and he whoopied her.

She sat on the whoopie cushion and it farted. Brad laughed. Barry chuckled. Joseph said, "Every time. Gold."

Wesker opened his office door. He looked serious. He said, "Chris? Could I see you for a moment?"

Chris made a scared face where Wesker couldn't see him and went in the office. The door was closed. Joseph signaled being lynched. Barry pointed a finger gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Brad looked like he might piss his pants.

Jill shifted in her seat; sore. She was straight up sore. Damn him and his enormous cock, she thought reflectively, but she'd been the one to tell him to fuck her like that. And he'd been so very gentle since then. He'd carried her to her little car and poked her inside it.

They didn't ride together to work. It was better that way to keep attention off them. But he'd kissed her, long and slow, before he'd gone to get in his Bronco. It was interesting to love him. He wasn't, objectively, her type at all. This was true. He wasn't pretty, which usually was her thing, and he wasn't rocking piercings or playing in a band. But he was no bullshit. Always. And she loved that about him.

She was working through another round of he said, she said backlog when the office door opened. Chris moved, swift and without stopping. He caught her look, shook his head, and left the office. Wesker was right behind him.

Wesker said, "We have some reports coming. The data doesn't sound good. Gear up, get ready. And meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes."

Wesker and Chris both left the office together.

The rest of them moved.

OF COURSE, Jill thought irritably, TODAY was the day they would go and fight bad guys. Today when she was aching and sore and bleeding a little. Today she would go up against the enemy. Naturally. When she was running at a quarter capacity.

Jill grabbed the desk and winced. She was so sore. Damnit. Shit and double shit.

Barry said, "You ok? You look pale."

"Oh yeah. I pulled a groin muscle yesterday kick boxing. It's killing me."

"Bad time to injure yourself."

"Naturally. I thought I'd be doing prison transport. Just my luck."

Apparently, it was time to go out there and kick some ass. Apparently, loving Chris Redfield meant kicking asses with your vagina throbbing. She couldn't help it. She just had to laugh.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter, sweeter, and to the point (I feel I might be losing readers with my BIG chapters. Admittedly, who has time to read 10000 words while hiding in the bathroom at work!?...which may be what I do…frequently). So this guy stands as fast, triumphant action. Our poor Jilly. She's been…used. Let's see how she does as we close down the Witches (finally) and move toward the Spencer Estate.
> 
> She loves her guy in this story. I know I've made him the good boy BUT I have a good reason. He's my Chris, in one hand, a good guy that bends the rules but never breaks them UNLESS it's for Jill. I'm basing him around the concept of him being uptight and professional in the canon and mixing it with the humor I feel like he would bring (he's terribly based on my real life Chris so I apologize if he seems somewhat OOC. Jill gets to be the bad girl here. She has to. So, she can tempt the Devil that wants to claim her.
> 
> Are we eager to get to the Spencer Estate? Artistic liberties say don't burn me when we get there. I have a tendency to leave the canon and blow past the boring stuff (it's totally fun to play the game and find the puzzles…not at ALL fun to write it).
> 
> :P
> 
> Slainte.

VI: When the World Goes Wrong

:::::::::::::SIX::::::::::::::

The rain was in full-blown storm mode when they landed. Wesker had to shout to be heard over the din of it. "There is likely a ritual in progress. The potential for mass casualty is paramount here! We need to move fast, move precise, and limit the fallout. Remember: attempting to rescue hostages is essential but not at the risk of the mission. Failure to suspend the ritual in progress could result in catastrophic fallout. Be sharp, move in units. NO ONE MOVES OUT ALONE."

Wesker threw open the door of the chopper and they began to leap out into the rain. Jill shifted, making a sound of distress. Her thighs kept spasming. And the soreness in her belly was scary.

Shit.

Double shit.

And it wasn't a spell. It was a curse. And she was so afraid it was going to cost her the respect of her peers if she fell down from rough fucking. CHEESE AND FUCKING RICE.

He never touched her on missions. Ever. But he touched her now. When she cramped while retrieving her gear, Chris lifted her up by her arm. He didn't look at her face. He didn't draw attention to the fact that he'd helped her. He just did it.

They both knew he did it to spare her pride.

Loving him for it, Jill shifted her hand and grabbed his belt. It was innocuous. It wasn't even visible to the naked eye. But it kept her upright. And his gloved hand stayed on her arm. For a man that never stepped over the line professionally, it was almost like a hug.

Wesker's voice called into the chopper. "There is a ritual occurring! Chris, Barry – I need you to find cover and reduce the threat. Joseph, Jill –with me. Brad – stay here with the chopper and await our return."

Brad the coward always got to stay behind. The little bastard.

Barry leaped off the plane and they were the last two.

Chris turned his mouth to her ear and said, quietly, "Don't be stupid here, Jill. How bad is it?"

She met his eyes and told him the truth. "It's pretty bad."

She saw it. She saw the moment he felt like a fucking bastard for it. And she didn't want that. She didn't. In normal circumstances, that kind of love should have been nothing but awesome. It was. It remained the best sex she'd ever had. But neither of them could have known it would be followed by this.

She hissed, quietly, "I will be ok. I swear to god. Trust me."

He held her gaze and finally nodded. But he didn't like that either. He wanted to protect her. It was written all over his face. He wanted to…what? Tell her to stay behind and wait? Jill felt the shift of anger in her belly at that.

And said, again, harshly. "I am fucking fine, Redfield. Let go of my damn arm."

He did.

But he looked pissed off about it.

Jill moved swiftly and leaped off the chopper. It hurt. She felt the blood between her thighs while she ran. It all hurt. But that was the thing about pain; you could disconnect it and do your god damn job. And that? That was something she'd learned from Chris Redfield.

Joseph and Jill flanked Wesker as she raced along the ground. Barry and Chris were absorbed into the storming darkness to find cover and open fire on the enemy. The ritual was sending smoke and stink up into the pouring sky.

The bonfire was surviving the typhoon around them just fine. It smelled vaguely of herbs and wood smoke. And there was a body comprised of multiple sewn together parts on a table to one side. There was blood and stones and robes and death. Death. Bodies were everywhere; missing pieces and making a horrible tableau of destruction.

Jill whispered, "Soulless bastards." And she stopped, stopped, and aimed down her arm.

The one with the big knife was lifting it high in the sky to deliver the death blow to the person on the ground before him. A girl. A little girl. And she was weeping.

No.

Jill pulled the trigger in the pouring rain.

The bullet hit the man in the back and threw him forward. The girl on the ground rolled away, screaming. Her shot was echoed by three more. Joseph, Wesker and either Chris and Barry wherever they were.

Jill trusted her comrades and raised into the fray. Wesker signaled with his hand and she went left to engage three of them at once. The pain in her body echoed as she flipped into a forward tuck and spun out to sweep two of their legs at once. They tumbled, stumbled, and she went back into a flip kick. There was the crack of teeth and bone. Her knife was in her hand and swiping without a thought from her.

Just habit. Just skill.

She split one open across the belly and turned it to drive it into the face of the one rushing her. Blood burst as she took his eye and put her knife into his brain. He couldn't even scream. But the one that grabbed her from behind? He screamed. Because Wesker shot him in the back for it.

Jill jerked her knife free and put it into his screaming mouth.

As she ripped it free, she turned. And Wesker had shot her assailant, yes he had. But he'd put himself in harm's way to do it. She watched the man he'd been fighting backhand him. It was hard. It knocked him down.

And the big guy brought that knife down on Wesker in a flying arch.

"No!" Jill flipped the knife in her hand and threw it.

It thrummed and struck, hitting the big man in that driving arm. He screamed and Wesker recovered on the ground enough to send a kick clean into his balls. The man staggered and Jill was already running. She leaped on his back, spun out and around, and dropped all her weight. It twisted his neck, snapped it, and forced a loud wet POP of sound into the thundering rain.

As the body fell, Jill put her hand down to help her Captain to his feet. He grabbed her hand and rose, watching her face. She wasn't sure what that was on it. But it wasn't creepy. If he'd been anyone but Wesker, she might have called it interest.

There was no time to consider it.

They put their backs together as two more rushed them from either side. Jill threw her arms back and Wesker locked his with hers. He rolled up and she came across his back in a flipping arch. She kicked the one in front of her and threw him away and rolled across, came down, and kicked the one rushing Wesker in a smooth, flawless, heavily practiced move.

Across the field, Chris watched them move. That's what they'd been doing during training. He wasn't just guiding her; Wesker was molding her. She was his female counterpart. They moved fluidly, skillfully; playing off each other like dancers.

Chris shot two of them while they rushed the pair. The third reached them. Wesker spun a back kick into him, ducked low, and drove his shoulder into that rushing belly. Jill leapfrogged over his shoulders, hooked her thighs around the assailant's face, and threw her body around like a rubber band. She threw him out and snapped his neck in a single move.

There were benefits to being the boss' protégé it seemed.

Jill moved light lightning, despite the ache in her body. It didn't even slow her down.

Until it slowed her down.

She went to spin kick an attacker and her thighs locked up. It stole her breath. It scared her. And down she went into the mud. The attacker punched her clean in the face for it.

Jill went over onto her back. She skidded through the mud and hit a tree. She tried to rise and her belly rejected the move. Her hand pressed against it and she grabbed the tree to pull herself up. The attacker backhanded her before she could do it. She went over, rolling.

The sound of gunfire was everywhere. The fighting was all around her. Jill gasped as the attacker grabbed her throat, lifted her up, and threw her into the tree. Her back hit, her body screamed, and she hit the ground on her face.

Her poor body, already aching, was throbbing now. Jill rolled to avoid the boot that tried to smash her face but it was a pyric victory. That boot landed on her back instead and put her face in the mud. She reared, jerked, shouted and the knife in his hand went straight into her shoulder.

The pain was awful. It was immediate. It was red and wet and bloody. Jill screamed with it even as he jerked that blade out of her, flipped it in his hand, and brought it down to end her life.

The gunshot was so loud and close it scared the shit out of her. It blasted that knife right out of his hand like the fucking Lone Ranger. The man turned, froze, and got a fist in the face for it. Chris didn't just drive the punch; he planted his foot and drilled it into the other man like he'd collapse bone and brain. He probably did.

The other man went down and didn't move.

Jill tried to rise and he dropped to one knee to slap a hand over her bleeding shoulder. She hissed and he rolled her up and into his arms. He rose, carrying her easily.

She hissed, "Put me down, idiot! If they see you saving me like some fucking white knight I will NEVER live this down."

Chris said nothing. Nothing. She could hear his heart pounding in his big chest. She turned her eyes up to him. And he was so mad. So very mad. The rage on him was scary.

Mad at her?

No.

Mad at himself.

She whispered, "Don't." Even as she knew what that face meant. He was going to blame himself. He was going to blame himself for it.

He set her down on her feet and she stumbled so she allowed him to loop her arm over his shoulders instead and help her limp back out of the woods with him. The fight was over. It had been brutal, quick, and won. Bodies were everywhere; prisoners were bound on the ground. Hostages were safe and being freed.

The pouring rain obscured the faces of most of the people around them. Barry hurried toward them.

"Christ! You ok?"

Jill nodded, hissing. "He hit like a fucking bitch."

And now Barry laughed, relieved.

Wesker moved over, watching them. "You're alright, Jill?"

She was bleeding in more than one way. She felt it dribble down the inside of her thighs while he leaned there. And it was hot and wet on her back from her shoulder.

"I could probably use some medical attention, sir."

Wesker nodded and gestured with his head. "Chris, get her to the chopper. Have Brad evac you to safety. The RPD is enroute. We'll stay here and secure the area until they arrive."

Chris nodded, still silent.

Wesker said, "Jill? That was what we've been working on before. Do you see, finally, what I've been trying to teach you?"

Jill held that pointed pale gaze. "Yes, sir. Remove the emotion and the fight becomes your own purpose."

"Exactly. Good work out there."

"Thank you, sir."

Chris helped her limp toward the chopper. When she was in and settled, he took the seat across from her. Not beside her. No. He sat across from her.

Jill felt the roll of something like panic in her guts.

They kept trying to hurt each other. They kept trying to do this..this thing. They kept trying to work together and love each other and survive it.

But she hadn't survived it. She'd almost DIED from it.

He'd almost gotten her killed.

It terrified him.

Brad said, from the front, "Everything go ok?"

Jill gave him a thumbs up. The chopper lifted and carried them into the rising storm. She waited, watching that face across from her. Chris was bedraggled, soaked, and staring into the darkness. Alarmed, Jill reached over and touched his knee.

He didn't look back at her….but his hand grabbed hers and squeezed.

They didn't speak. Not a word. They didn't speak at all until she was done getting patched up at the aid station at the RPD. He waited outside the room until she emerged.

And then they walked together, silently, into the STARS shower area.

Chris closed the door, locked it, and turned to face her.

"How bad is it?"

Jill shook her head at him and started peeling off her clothes. He saw her hands tremble and cursed. He was rough, almost scary rough, as he jerked her clothes off her. She still said nothing, watching his face with wonder.

And now he picked her up, whether she wanted him to or not, and carried her into the shower. He sat her down and turned on the heated spray. He stood there, fully clothed, while the hot water beat around them.

His eyes moved over her body.

She was bruised on her chest and the side of her face was already coloring like an eggplant from the hit she'd taken. She was scratched and stabbed and sore. And her thighs? They were wet with blood from him.

No bad guy there. Just this guy. Just him. He'd done that.

He shook his head, self-loathing.

Jill grabbed his face, finally, finally and wouldn't let him look away.

"Stop it. STOP. Please. I can see where this is going, Chris. I can SEE you pulling away. Don't. Please."

He shook his head and she scooped the soggy hair out of his face. His whisper was harsh and hurt her to hear it. "Look what I did to you, Jill. I almost got you killed!"

So maybe he shouted that a little. She jumped.

And she shook her head. "Stop it. You didn't! You didn't. It was just bad luck, Chris. It was BAD LUCK. If I was a cashier or something I could have just called in today and been fine. This? This was just bad timing. That's it! That's all!"

The anguish on his face scared her to death. "But we're NOT like that, Jill. This? This is what we do! This is what we're here to do. How can we do this and not have it get us killed?"

"…don't. Chris? Don't do this."

"Jill…" He grabbed her face. "Jill…I can't lose you. I can't. Not like this. This? This wasn't bad luck. It was avoidable. Some things are avoidable. I want to be with you. I do. I love you. But I'm going to get you killed if I don't back off here."

She was shaking her head. "You're overreacting. You're scared and it's making you stupid."

"No. NO. I'm clear-headed in a way I haven't been in months. You said it. You said we couldn't do this and work together. You were right. How in the hell do I survive it if you die, Jill? If I get you killed because I hammered your fucking brains out and hurt you? How the hell do I survive that?" He was so scared. He was so distressed with it. He was going to break her fucking heart to save her life. Big goddamn hero.

Chris Redfield was the guy who walked away to protect you.

DAMN HIM.

"Don't you leave me, Redfield. Don't you fucking dare."

He grabbed her and pulled her into him. She held on, so tight it stole his breath. And he put his face into her neck and breathed. She felt him tremble with it. Don't cry, she thought madly, don't cry. If you cry, I'll die. I'll give you anything you want.

"I'm not leaving you, Jill. This is me loving you. This is how I love you and keep you alive. I don't fucking know any other way to do it." So hoarse. His voice was so hoarse. He loved her so fucking much. He was so scared he was going to love her to death. Couldn't she see that?

He let go of her.

But she didn't. She kept holding on.

His hands came up and grabbed her shoulders…and finally slid into her hair. He turned her face up and his came down. It was a wet kiss. It was a desperate kiss. She tried to cling. She tried to tell him with her body that she loved him. Her hands moved under his clothes; his were on her breasts. Their hearts hammered together with want and fear and need.

He shook his head.

He pulled away from her.

"You're my best friend in the world, Chris. You're my guy. Please. Please don't." She sounded so afraid. He HATED hurting her. But he'd almost gotten her KILLED.

"I'm still your best friend. That won't change. Can't change. I love you, Jill. I love you. And I can't watch you die. I'm so sorry."

He peeled her off him. She tried to hold on. He held her away from him. He looked at her like he wanted to keep holding on. He did. But he couldn't. The big god damn hero.

"Stay with me, Chris. PLEASE."

"I want to, Jill. I want to. But I can't."

But the hot wet water was all that remained as he left her standing there….bleeding, bleeding, but you couldn't see it. Not all of it. Not the blood on her thighs, not the blood on her shoulder…but the one in her heart?

That one was going to kill her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Author's note:
> 
> The last little guy was short and sweet. This is longer. It's more plot building. Romance. It's gearing up for the action that will be joining us soon enough. Thanks for reading!
> 
> Slainte.

VII: Witches, Bitches, and Bogus Corn

:::::::::::::SEVEN::::::::::::::

So, what happened when Chris Redfield broke your heart? Apparently, it meant that you moved back into your own bedroom. Apparently, it meant you mowed the grass alone. Apparently, it meant you took Dog on hikes alone. Apparently, it meant no one stole your meatballs. Apparently, it meant you didn't laugh. You just didn't. Ever.

A man true to his word, Chris didn't stop trying to be her friend. He still joked. He still whoopied her all the time. He still filled her coffee cup with fake spiders to make her scream when she came back from the bathroom to find them floating in her coffee. He still cooked; he still cleaned up after her. He just didn't touch her.

Ever.

Not even a hug.

She did the best she could to return that effort. She understood why he'd done it. She got it. Logically, she got it. But the logic was having trouble in her heart. Her heart said: you know why he did it. You know why. Because you begged him to hurt you, he did, and it nearly got you killed. It wasn't his fault. It was yours. You keep pushing him past his comfort zone. You keep pushing him to do things he wouldn't do for you. You keep testing his limits…and yours. And his limit? His limit is losing you.

He'd rather have you in his life anyway he can get you then be with you. THAT'S how much he loves you. He can't love you and be with you. He can't. Because you keep making it too hard.

It had been hard. Too hard. And it had been AMAZING. The timing had been bad with the witches. It had been really bad. But she hadn't died. She hadn't. She kept hoping he'd see that and come back to her.

But weeks went by and he didn't.

They were still running down pieces of the cult that had been trying to raise the dead in that clearing. They'd gotten a base of the cultists pretty solidly in the ambush. But the leader was eluding them. No one was talking. They were interrogating with little success.

On the mat with Wesker, she was at her best. She was, literally, out performing his best expectations. Without Chris to distract her, she was doing what he'd asked of her: removing the emotion to focus on the purpose.

She was a little alarmed that she hadn't cried, not once, since Chris had left her. It was like she was…what? Numb? Empty? She was something. And that something had Wesker respecting her in ways she'd never felt.

Apparently, getting your heart broken by Chris Redfield meant gaining the respect of your boss.

It was a painful trade.

One afternoon, about three weeks after he'd dumped her in that shower, she was coming off the mat after a sweaty session of training versus some of the guys in Vice and she came upon Kevin Ryman again. He moved over to offer her a bottle of water.

Jill took it, breathing heavy. "Thanks guy."

"Yup." Kevin was so handsome. What had Chris said? Pretty boy. He was. He had all that shaggy hair and big blue eyes. His body was rockin too. Lots of muscle. He kept trying to get into STARS and failing. Lord knew why. But Jill was betting it was the attitude. Kevin wouldn't do well with "absolute obedience".

They'd had a great date actually. Awesome. He was funny and fun and flirty. And she'd shot him down because she wanted to get home to the guy in her house with the soft sweats and nothing underneath.

The guy who'd left her in the shower to protect her.

Big god damn hero…big god damn idiot.

Jill said, "You want to go out again sometime?"

He'd been thinking the same thing. Jill Valentine was probably the coolest chic that had ever been born. She was no bullshit. She was funny and drank beer from a bottle like a dude. And her ass was legendary to those trying to grab it. She hung around with Redfield too much but that seemed platonic enough. And Kevin wasn't a man that worried about romantic complications. He liked a person, he went out with them—end of story.

"Yup."

And Jill laughed now and touched his arm.

It felt really good to laugh.

Back at her desk, she was leafing through victim profiles trying to find a link between the who and the what and the why that Wesker was always shouting about. They were varied and far reaching. The why was clearly trying to raise the dead. But what was the purpose of it? Destruction? To what reason?

Trying to fall into the friendship standard again with him, Jill lifted her head in her little beret and spoke to him, freely, for the first time in weeks. "Have you found a tie between the victims and the cult?"

Chris paused with his coffee halfway to his mouth. It was the first time she'd looked at him without something haunting her eyes. Staying away from her was killing him. He was pretty much dying for her 24/7. But he wouldn't stand there and watch their relationship get her killed, fired, or wounded. Being together had almost done all three.

Maybe she was starting to realize that too.

But he fucking missed her like the other piece of himself.

He rubbed his ear now, considering. "The victims at the last ritual were all minors."

Jill nodded, studying the reports again. "They were. The body they were attempting to resurrect was comprised of adult parts though. So they weren't harvesting pieces from the children. They were just…"

"Using them as hornless goats."

Curious, Jill lifted her brows at him.

Chris sipped his coffee and lifted a finger to give pause to his thought before he pulled one of the books on his desk and gestured. Jill came around the desk and bent down to look at what he was gesturing to in it. "The hornless goat is sometimes what practitioners of dark magic refer to a human sacrifice. Usually, it's found in voodoo to replace the actual animal offering. But I think, in this case, they were trying to offer sacrifice to raise the Destroyer to inhabit the body they'd created. The Destroyer prefers the sacrifice of innocence. What better than children, right?"

He was so fucking smart. She forgot sometimes when he was cracking jokes and being funny. But he just got it. What they were doing here; it just clicked for him. He was following the lines with that brain that was always seeing ten ways the threads could tie together.

She read all about the human sacrifice over his shoulder. He offered her his coffee and she took it without thinking and had a sip. For the first time in weeks, they just talked. They talked about witches and bitches and baby killers. They moved to the corkboard to go over the ties that wound between the members they'd arrested and the victims. They tried to find the link.

They needed to cut off the head of the snake to stop the body. How did they find the head?

Joseph moved over at one point to join the conversation. Barry was close behind. They spitballed. They tossed around ideas.

Joseph offered, "Community leader maybe?"

Barry returned, "Like a church deacon?"

Chris considered that, pacing. "I can see the community leader idea. There's no better way to hide then in the public eye. Think about how easy it is to get away with murder when there's no possible way people would suspect you. Bruce Wayne made the perfect Batman because he was SO visible. Hiding in shadows is for vampires. Killers like this would crave the attention."

Jill studied the faces of the dead on the corkboard. She looked at the locations. She followed, with her finger, the red yarn that made the paths. And then she started to trace the pattern Chris had shown her that night she'd nearly cost them their job. She traced the symbol in the book he'd shown her.

And she said, softly, why the other three continued to suggest potential leaders. "Not a church deacon. A Priest."

There were three heavily attended Catholic churches right in the MIDDLE of the symbol she was tracing with her finger. She turned back to face them; eager with excitement. "A PRIEST, Chris. Look!"

She gestured with her finger. "It moves around these three major hubs of Catholicism. That's the thread. That's the tie. One of these churches has the leader. And he's not a member. He's a leader there. He has to be. He's trying to destroy while he leads the flock into the darkness. I bet all the victims will be members of one of these three churches."

Chris was watching her face while she talked. Don't underestimate yourself, he'd said to her once, he was right. She had the goods. She was just trying too hard to pretend she didn't.

Joseph said, "You think they'll all be members of the same church?"

Jill sighed, considering that, "Maybe? But that might be too obvious. We need to start investigating the congregations though. We should sit in on masses and try to see what lessons the priests are teaching. I think that's where our head of the snake is going to be."

From the doorway, Wesker said, "Brilliant, Jill. And I agree."

They all jumped, startled by his arrival from his office. They'd been so busy brainstorming that they hadn't even known he was there. He moved toward them, smiling. The pale, pale, pale blue of his eyes was always arresting when he didn't wear his glasses.

He stood between Chris and Barry and Jill realized the three of them were exactly the same height. She had to think about that for a minute. Somehow Wesker always seemed so much taller than everyone around them. But they were all…what….six-one? Joseph was the shortest of the group standing there. Well, besides Jill of course.

Wesker was leaner with Barry being the biggest, mass wise, but Chris was the most toned. His arms were flexed without even trying. It was clear he was still lifting, still doing god knew how many push-ups a day, and trying to pack on the muscle he was always chasing.

Wesker studied the board. "I want each of you in civilian clothes to attend Sunday mass at each of these churches. We can't risk going to each service. Brad? You will come with me to this St. Mary's. Barry and Joseph? I want you to attend St. Patrick's. Jill and Chris? Sacred Heart. Let's see if we can discern our enemy by bearding the lion directly in his den."

At the end of the workday, Jill emerged from the STARS showers in jeans and a little blue top that was spaghetti strings and silk. She'd slicked her hair and thrown on enough make to highlight her beautiful face.

Joseph whistled as she grabbed her jacket from her chair. "Date?"

Jill chuckled a little. "That's the rumor. How's Maggie?"

"Great. How soon is too soon to propose?"

Jill studied his guileless face. Joseph was such a gossip. He knew everything. He could tell you everyone's business sometimes before they knew it. Hiding her relationship with Chris from him had been difficult. But he was a good man at the core of it.

"You love her?"

Joseph grinned. "Like it's killing me."

"Then it's never too soon, my friend. The only real failure comes by not giving it your best shot, Joe. Propose. If she's worth it? She won't run." Jill slipped on her jacket.

"And if she says no?"

"Well, then you're better off. Nobody wants to hitch their wagon to someone who runs when things get hard. Right?"

She could FEEL Chris looking at her. She knew it was boggy ground here. But it needed said. He'd spent so long chasing her. He got her. And he ran away. She had a right to be pissed at him. They both knew it.

"True story. That's Valentine. You want to be my best man?"

Jill chuckled and grabbed her keys from her desk. "I'd love to."

"Awesome."

Jill left the office, jingling her keys. Kevin was waiting in the lobby. He had on an old leather bomber jacket in a good cowhide brown. It worked with the white t-shirt and jeans he wore. It worked with the cowboy boots he sported beneath them.

Jill grinned at him. "Dinner?"

"You read my mind."

In the office, Chris rolled his stapler in his hands. Well, it was clear where that arrow had been aimed. In one hand, she was right. He had run. But he had good reason. He did. Right? He had a good reason. They were good friends here. Loving her had nearly killed her.

If that wasn't a good reason...what was?

He grabbed his keys and moved into the lobby. And there she was, leaving with Kevin Ryman.

…shit.

The swell of jealousy pissed him off.

He wasn't a jealous man by nature. And yet he was always chasing her around because of it. It was fucking degrading. He'd pulled the plug on things. It made sense she'd move on.

Why did it hurt so fucking bad?

Chris went home to hang out with Dog.

Dog was watching Will & Grace when he came through the door. Jack and Karen were hee-hawing about some stupid joke. It usually made Chris laugh. Tonight, he bypassed the television and went right out to the heavy bag. Dog followed him into the garage to watch him.

Chris tossed his shirt over his workbench and started taping his hands. "What's the answer here Dog? Seriously?"

Dog chewed his bone, watching him.

"I'm so fucking nuts for her. But that guy? He had her on the ground with a knife in her. A KNIFE. Because her body was all kinds of fucked up from me. I hurt her. I did that. And what? She expects me to just…" Chris hit the bag so hard that his arm went numb to the elbow. Dog kept on watching him, judging. "She just wants me to forget that. Or get over it. How? How do I forget? If I wouldn't have gotten to her, she'd be dead. DEAD, Dog. Do you hear me?"

Dog woofed softly.

"Yeah. You hear me. So why can't SHE hear me?"

On her date, Jill swirled her drink in her hand. Kevin had a perpetual five o'clock shadow. It was part of his charm. It was sexy. He was sexy. He was clearly intelligent and funny and friendly. She should be kinda crushin on him.

But Chris Redfield rolled in her gut like lead.

How did she get him out?

Kevin paid the check. He walked her to her car.

"So, that's how I became Ryman the red faced wienie."

He'd been telling her the story of a childhood prank gone wrong. Jill laughed a little and leaned on her car, watching him. Kevin added, "The chicken in this story was clearly antagonistic. I'm just sayin."

"Clearly."

"Clearly."

"Hey, Ryman?"

"Hmm?"

"You want to kiss me?"

"Yup."

And they both laughed.

Jill grabbed his jacket and pulled him toward her. They kissed; smooth and wet. It was a good kiss. He knew what he was doing. He was good with the pressure and he didn't try to lick her tonsils. All kinds of right tongue and teeth and suck.

She should take him home.

A few months ago, she'd have taken him home and fucked him stupid.

What had changed?

Well, of course, she knew what had changed. She'd taken a ride on a freight train. And now it was all she could get her head to wrap around. They separated from the kiss.

Kevin cupped her face. "You gonna let me see you again, Jill?"

And Jill grinned at him, "Yup."

She rolled in about midnight. She could hear him out in the garage beating up the bag. Dog barked out with him to signal he knew she was home.

Jill grabbed her cigarettes and went out into the garage. She hit the release to raise the door and lit up a smoke. Dog rubbed against her legs for a pet.

"Hey, pal. You been good?"

Dog woofed his answer.

Chris grabbed the bag to halt the swinging. He was all sweaty and yummy. A lock of all that hair of his fell in his eyes. He pushed it out, watching her.

"Good date?"

"Actually yeah." Jill leaped up on the workbench and sat there smoking and petting Dog. "You been out here all night?"

"Off and on, yeah."

"You should find a nice girl and give her a ride on the freight train."

Shit. SHIT. He'd been afraid she was going to say something like that. And he hated that it made him ache to hear it. He studied her face to look for anger. But there was none. She wasn't being catty. She was just being Jill, his buddy. His pal.

His regret.

And Chris Redfield HATED regret.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's gotta be better than wasting your Friday night beating up the heavy bag."

"I was hanging with Dog too. So, not wasted."

"True story." Jill petted the mutt and played with his floppy bacon ears. He was her guy. He'd given her a dog to make her smile. He'd punched Greg in the face. He'd backed off to protect her. It was time to let him go back to being her guy and stop trying to make him her man. "Thank you."

Surprised, Chris stopped hitting the bag again. "What?"

"You were right. I hate it like hell. But you were right. We can't keep what we're doing and work together. This is better. So, we move on. And we do it with no hard feelings. We gave it a shot right? We didn't get into STARS to tank our careers and hurt each other. So, let's just hit the rewind here and stop doing that." Jill leaped off the table, stubbing out the smoke. She tossed it into the coffee can beside the garage. "No hard feelings here, Chris. Ok?"

Jesus.

Cheese and rice.

Is this what he wanted?

Maybe. But it felt like a punch in the dick. "…ok."

"I've been saving up some money the last few months. Give me a couple more and I'll get out of your hair here. Thanks for letting me squat though. In hindsight, living together was bound to make a mess right? Kevin was telling me that an apartment in his building should be coming up soon. It's pet friendly. So we can split Dog between us after that." Jill moved toward the house. "Don't hit the bag too hard, big guy. I don't think it can take the full power of the freight train."

She closed the door quietly behind her.

Chris hit the heavy bag with everything he had.

Saturday morning she was gone by the time he dragged his hungover ass out of bed. He'd finished hitting the bag and gone straight for the beer. Dog and Chris had sat outside on the hood of the Bronco. Dog sat on the ground, watching him.

Across the street, the neighbor kids were jumping through the sprinkler.

His mouth felt like sandpaper and cotton. He fucking knew better at his age than to fire back a twelve pack. But he was grieving…or something. Yeah. He was grieving. Because she was ok with it being over.

And he was fucking aching for her.

The motorcycle rolled up the driveway and his baby sister leaped off.

"Heya, butt breath."

"C-Bear."

She was wearing her little motorcycle jacket that he'd given her. She sat her helmet on the tail of the bike. At least she was wearing it today. She'd chopped off a bunch of her long hair. It was just past the shoulders.

"Whoa, kid. Where's the do?"

"Donated. Charity. You know for kids with cancer?"

His C-Bear. She had a heart as big and wide as the ocean. Chris patted the hood and she leaped up to sit by him. She didn't have to ask. She knew. She'd run into Jill in town.

Claire wrapped her hands around his big arm and put her head on his shoulder.

He dropped his cheek to her head.

"You want to talk about it?"

"….nope."

"Mmmk." Claire kept on holding on while the kids across the street laughed and jumped and played. "You want me to kick her ass?"

And now Chris laughed. He laughed. And kissed her forehead. "Nope. Not her fault. This one? All me."

Surprised, Claire glanced up at his face. "What did you do?"

"Let her go. It's the only way I can protect her."

Claire studied his face. He looked so much like their Dad as he got older. It was insane. And wonderful. He acted like him too. All selfless and soft. The big squish.

"You idiot."

Chris blinked at her. "What?"

"Did she ask you to protect her?"

"You don't ask someone to protect you, Claire. You just do it."

"You're a dumb ass, Chris Redfield."

"Dually noted."

Dog woofed on the ground. Claire looked him. She blinked. Dog blinked. She put her hand out and petted him. He put his head on her knee.

"You got a dog."

"I did."

"….you got a dog for Jill Valentine?"

It was stupid how well she knew him. The little snot. He sighed. "I did."

"….I love you, Chris."

And now he laughed. He kissed her forehead again. "Thanks, kid. Ditto."

"You know she's bumming around with that hot cop right?"

"I know that."

"You're ok with it?" She studied his face.

No. No, he was NOT ok with it. At all. Not even a little bit. He was not ok with it at all. What he was, was resolute about it. He looked like shit, felt worse, and made her soften with love for him.

"I bounce, C-Bear. And I will bounce here too. She's not mine. Not anymore. So she gets to do what she wants."

"She gets to do WHO she wants?"

Ouch.

"Yep. That too. Part of the package."

"Chris…apologize and get her back."

"Can't do it. It was the right thing to do, Claire. Sometimes the right thing hurts like a fucking punch in the face."

The big hero. Always screwing himself for the safety of those he cared about. It was admirable. And stupid. He deserved all the love in the world. Why was he running from it?

Claire kissed his mouth, gently. He looped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. And the pounding in his head was his only comfort.

They went to mass on Sunday. The service was interesting. He wasn't Catholic but his mother had been. So he'd been to a few services in his time.

The Priest was engaging. He spoke of hellfire and brimstone. He spoke of redemption. He offered the body and blood of Christ. He offered parishioners the chance to confess their sins and find their absolution. The flock loved him. They yearned for his approval.

Chris studied him, trying to decide if he was their guy.

A younger Priest, he was handsome and guileless. The intensity with which he preached God's message was interesting. He made you want to believe him. He quoted scripture, he referenced Revelations, he mentioned Jesus and his death on the cross. He spoke of the holy trinity.

Chris thought: Are you killing people in your spare time, Father?

The Priest left the dais and the congregation began to break up. Chris rose in his suit and headed toward the doors that led outside. He moved down the stairs to the Bronco and climbed in. Jill climbed in the passenger seat a moment later.

Her Sunday best was pink and virginal. It was unadorned and simple. And it made him hard to look at her in it. Her dark hair was clipped up in a style that looked artless and easy.

They watched the faithful stop and laugh and talk. The priest moved amongst them, shaking hands and laughing. Jill finally spoke into the silence, "What's your gut tell you?"

The Priest stopped and touched the hair on a little girl. She smiled; big blue eyes and happiness. And his hand lingered…just a moment too long.

"My gut says he's the guy."

Jill replied, quietly, "Yeah. That's what mine says too. What now?"

Chris opened his car door and leaped out. Surprised, Jill watched him walk toward the priest. They shook hands. Chris, adorable in his rumpled suit, dwarfed the shorter man in sheer size. But that wasn't it. It was how he engaged him. Chris made the priest laugh. Chris made the priest comfortable. Chris just did that. With everyone. With strangers, with friends, with girls…with terrorists. He just put you at ease.

She fucking missed him.

He came back toward the Bronco shedding his suit jacket. His shirt sleeves were perfectly ironed and crisp white. The collar of the button down was left open. He opened the car door and tossed his jacket in the back seat. He climbed into the front, talking, "Oh yeah he's the guy."

"Yeah? How can you be sure?"

"He preens. Priests do lots of things. They don't preen. He's full of shit and loving it." Chris sat down in the seat.

And the sound of farting filled the interior of the car.

He blinked.

Jill blinked.

She'd whoopied him. She'd put the whoopie under his car seat cover. She'd whoopied him at a church.

Jill watched his face. He watched hers. And she giggled.

His eyebrows went straight up into his hair. "…what was that?"

Jill turned toward her window. She said, "Nothing. I laughed."

"You giggled, Valentine. We both heard it."

"Don't be stupid. Drive the truck."

He cranked the engine and pulled away from the curb. After a long moment, he laughed. And it felt really good to laugh. He'd missed laughing with her. She was his best friend. It was more than missing the taste of her. It was missing her laughter and her humor and her good will. He didn't just love her, he enjoyed her. And it cut both ways.

She'd wrecked his whole world when she came into his life. She'd hit him like a hurricane. She'd blown down his defenses and left him in pieces. The pieces of him were back together but they didn't fit the way they should. Not anymore. She'd blown in and brought the rain, the lightning, the thunder. She'd blown him away with her naughty nature and her devilish little mouth. She'd cursed like a sailor and fucked like a porn star and gave shit like a man.

Jill wasn't just the best friend he'd ever had. She was the best person he knew. In the whole fucking world, she was the one who just…got him. Just got him. And he valued that more than anything else in his whole life.

The pieces of him didn't fit without her.

They were mirrors that reflected the truth of each other. They were checks and balances and blood and guts and honesty. They were what kept the other in line. She offered him the chance to explore his dark side and he gave her the steadfast dedication that no one in her life had ever offered. She'd yelled MORE when he'd touched her and he'd thrown her over the desk of their superior and sacrificed his entire career for her.

Whatever else was true, they were in it together.

He rolled up in front of the house and idled there. Jill started to get out and he said, "I don't want you to move out."

She turned back, surprised. "What?"

"I don't want you to move out. You're my best friend, Jill. I want you to stay."

They studied each other in the dreary morning light. The god damn rain never stopped in this stupid town. The spring was turning to summer and still the rain went on. The damn world was wet and green and growing.

Maybe this was how they grew too.

"Can we live together, date other people, and deal with that, Chris? Because that's what happens when we move on but keep living together. We move on."

The rain peppered the windshield. It cocooned around them. He sighed. "I didn't break things off with you to lose you, Jill."

"That's the dumbest thing anyone ever said…ever."

He laughed a little. "Hear me out. I know this won't be easy. At first, it's gonna suck a lot. But ending things, it's how I protect you."

"You're gonna piss me off with that hero shit, Red. Be careful here."

They held eyes.

"Ok. Ok. I hear you. I'm never a fucking misogynist with you, Jill. Ever. But I saw you on the ground with that guy on top of you and I knew it was my fault you were there. I can live with you with another man. I can deal with that. But I can't watch you die. Not because I loved you too much. I'm not fucking strong enough for that shit. Big tough he-man that I am? I can't be the reason you die. I won't survive it."

Jill studied his face. For the guy who lacked words, that was a fucking storybook of them. She wanted to rip open his shirt and lick his chest. She wanted to climb onto his lap and eat him. And because he'd stood there in the rain and nearly lost her, he wanted to run away and try to keep her safe. He was, as she'd always known, too good for her.

So, she did the right thing and let him go.

"So friends then?"

"Yes. Yeah. Always."

"I'll stay." She leaped out of the Bronco and ran toward the house.

He kept on sitting there, staring into the rain. She'd stay. But he wouldn't have her. Not really. Not anymore.

She changed clothes. She ran back out the door to go on a date with Kevin Ryman. He let her go. He joked. He laughed with her about it. He played her buddy. He did it well.

And he didn't run after her and drag her back to hold on.

And that was harder, maybe, than anything he'd ever done in his life.

That was how you stayed friends with Jill Valentine. You faked it until you made it. You faked it until it eventually became real. He was a good guy. He didn't hurt girls for no reason. He wanted her in his life.

And maybe this was how he kept her there and kept her safe.

A few weeks later, she started staying out all night. He knew what that meant. He knew what it meant for them as well. She was involved. It wasn't just dates now. It was a relationship.

They had fun together as always. She bugged his stall that he used for his morning "newspaper break". The whole station was subjected to the rousing fun of him taking a shit.

As he came out of the bathroom, someone applauded. And Kevin shouted, "Keep eating that fiber big guy!"

He high fived Jill over lunch.

He stole her little car one day and had it painted. When she heard the laughing, she looked out the window. Her pretty little bug was now a four wheeled ad for erectile dysfunction medication. She turned back to look at him at his desk.

"Seriously?" She queried.

"You like it?"

"Oh yeah. I'm keeping it."

It made him laugh and love her.

Because that part never changed. He kept right on loving her.

She came home one night about two a.m. to find Gia the witch on her couch. She was playing the zombie game. She was in his shirt and playing his playstation.

Jill thought about running to her room to cry. But instead she sat down beside the witch and played the game with her. Dog sat on the floor, judging her.

Jill liked Gia. She was nice. She was complimentary and friendly and intelligent. They got along like peas and carrots. There was no reason not to like Gia the witch.

Except that she was clearly, clearly, taking a ride on the freight train.

Chris came out of the kitchen with a beer. He paused, watching them together on the couch.

Gia grinned at him. "You ready?"

Chris glanced at Jill. They held eyes for a long moment. He finally smiled back. "Let's roll."

Jill watched them head off to his room. Don't move out, he'd said. How in the fucking hell was she supposed to sit there while he boned the witch? How did one be friends with the person they loved? Jesus.

She heard Gia start laughing. She heard the rumble of his voice answering her. There was no more laughing after that. None.

Jill rose from the couch. "I'm leaving for awhile Dog. You want to come?"

She took Dog running at 2 a.m. She ran through the park. She stopped to give ten bucks to Larry the homeless guy who slept on the bench. She covered him with his newspaper like a blanket. She left a clean pair of pants and shoes for him. It's what she did once a week.

She ran home just about the time Gia was leaving for work. She hesitated and went into the house after waving to her as she drove down the street. Chris was in the kitchen making coffee.

Jill, panting from running, poured Dog some food. She felt him watching her. He said, finally, "You want to talk about this?"

"No. Ever. Not ever. Good night." She went into her room and closed the door.

He leaned on the counter and cursed.

She whoopied Chris during a meeting with Chief Irons regarding the sting operation to arrest the leader of the cult of witches. He stood up, he addressed the room; he was commanding and engaging and charming. She could see the shimmer of command all over him like a misty veil. He'd lead men one day, she was sure of that. He didn't know any other way but to be in charge.

He was Wesker without the edge of emptiness she was always sensing around their captain. Chris would command out of love for his troops. Chris would command because he believed in what he was doing. He was such a big fucking hero. Jill was fucking in love with him so much it hurt.

And then he sat down in his chair.

And the sound of farting filled the quiet room.

Jill didn't even look up from her notebook as she kept right on jotting notes. But the room was laughing all around them. Wesker was watching her. She held his pale gaze. She could feel his judgment. She just wasn't sure what it meant.

Kevin took her out. Plenty. He was charming. Always. And always funny.

They played pool and he lost. They played darts and she lost…unless he was drinking and then he was horrible at it. They went swimming when the weather turned warm enough to allow it. They went on a picnic to the lake one day with Chris and Gia, Barry and his girls, Joseph and Maggie. Brad was there with a date…shockingly. It was fun. They went on innertubes down the river.

There was barbecue and hotdogs and beer. It was a good time. A great time. Dog had a blast in the water. She leaned against a tree and let Kevin kiss the shit out of her. It was great. She wasn't ready to hop into bed with him. Not yet. But she was enjoying the kissing.

On nights when Chris had Gia over, she found reasons to leave. She couldn't stick around and listen. She was doing her best to move on. But she wasn't ready to sit there and hear Gia squealing like a stuck pig. She wasn't that strong.

Jill stood at the top of the rise looking down into the water beneath the ragged cliff she was standing on. There was no hope for it. She had to jump. Everyone was waiting behind or below for her. Gia had jumped. Kevin had jumped. Barry and the girls were down there. Joseph and Maggie had jumped together. Brad hadn't bothered.

She was alone on the cliff with Chris.

He was the only person who knew how desperately afraid she was of falling to her death. It was her greatest fear. She had nightmares about it constantly. If she didn't jump, she'd be outed as a pansy. She'd be ridiculed and laughed at.

If Brad Vickers even ATTEMPTED to call her a coward, she'd brain him.

Chris watched her in that little bikini she wasn't even really wearing. Some blue and white idea of man's torture device. The little bottoms were string and sin. He stepped up beside her and looked down.

"Long drop."

"Hmm."

"Want me to push you?"

She turned her eyes to him. His eyes were shielded by polarized wrap glasses. His chest and stomach were all muscle and sunkissed bronze skin. Jill wanted to grab the feather fine dusting of hair on his upper chest and jerk him toward her for a kiss.

Annoyed, she stepped back from him.

It hurt him to see her do it.

"Just jump," She told him, "I'll do it in a minute."

"No way, Valentine. If I jump, you'll chicken out."

Irritated, Jill spun to face him again. They could hear all the laughter from down below. There was plenty of splashing. Someone kept calling up to them to hurry up. Probably Brad…the bastard.

"What do you care, Redfield? Go jump in to your girlfriend. Hurry up. Before she casts a spell on me out of jealousy."

Chris laughed a little. "How would that go exactly? Shit and double shit…double double toil and trouble…shit and bubble…"

Jill snorted and laughed. "I'd probably get the runs."

"It would be fair trade. Since you gave them to me once." He put his hand out to her. "Take it, Valentine. Man up. Let's do this."

"Man up. What a stupid phrase. I'm not a man."

He looked at her in that little bikini. Her toned tummy, her perfect thighs, those long, long, long legs. Her little bracelet on that ankle. Her little tattoo of a heart on the left hip. Clearly, it was a nod to her name: Valentine.

No. She wasn't a guy. Not even close.

That damn bikini could barely contain her breasts. The cool breeze on the rise had made them pointy beneath the triangles of cloth trying to hold them in. Chris shook himself like a dog coming out of the water.

"You don't jump, Brad will have the whole station laughing at you tomorrow. You know that."

Jill turned her back on him to look out into the trees. The sun was starting to set. They'd be packing it in soon and going home. The Raccoon Forest at the base of the Arklay mountains was teeming with the beginning of summer. She could hear crickets chirping.

"Go on and jump, Red. I'm going to do it. I swear. I just…need a minute."

"I'll wait."

She turned to face him again. "Is your girlfriend jealous of us?"

"Why would she be? We're just friends."

It wasn't the best answer. He saw that on her face. But it was the truth. Kinda. Sorta. Not really but kinda. Maybe. Shit.

"Yeah. Friends."

"Ryman doesn't seem to care about us being friends."

'He doesn't. No reason to."

"Exactly."

"Gia's probably happy taking a ride on the freight train so she doesn't give a fuck." Jill shivered from the breeze now and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Seems that way." He watched her, curious what she was about here. "Kevin's fucking a porn star. I'm sure he's just fine too."

Jill shook her head, laughing a little. "We're not fucking. Not yet. Not all of us jump into bed on the first day, you fucking lecher."

He felt like someone had kicked him in the stomach. What was she saying here? She wasn't sleeping with Ryman? She was gone three nights a week. She was clearly sleeping over. They weren't screwing? How was that even possible?

Was the dude gay? Blind? Impotent? What? How could you sleep next to her and not fuck her while she screamed? It made no sense.

"You're not fucking him?"

"No." She spun back to face him. "Is that such a big surprise? You think I'm a whore that just jumps into bed with whoever asks?"

Chris watched her face, trying to see what she was feeling. She was offended, clearly, and he was sorry for that. But it wasn't as if there was a man alive that would believe she was sleeping over and just sleeping. It was insane. "No. No, I don't."

"We're dating, Redfield…you asshole. That doesn't mean screwing."

….really? Chris stared at her, dumbfounded. "It doesn't?"

"Not all the time. No. We're getting to know each other. That means talking, you idiot. Not everyone throws their giant cock into a girl and expects her to be happy with that. Intimacy. I'm sure you've heard of it."

Chris tucked his tongue in his cheek. "I'm familiar with the concept. Vaguely. You're having long conversations and what? Romance? With Kevin Ryman?"

"…yeah. So?"

"With Kevin RYMAN. The guy who once tried to light his own farts on fire and singed his butt hair."

Jill shook her head.

"The guy who confessed to bonging so much beer that he passed out on the floor of a random bar, possibly was rufied by a girl…or a dude…and woke up in a field with a cow. Was the cow his girlfriend for the night? We still don't know."

They held gazes. Finally, Jill started laughing.

"Kevin Ryman whom, under the watchful eye of the entirety of J's Bar, engaged in a belching contest with Jim Chapman and spontaneously threw up from it?"

Jill kept on laughing.

"The guy who recently drew a penis on the face of his coworker when they fell asleep at their desk…in permanent marker. THAT guy is romantic?"

Jill put her hand to her chest and laughed. It felt so good to laugh. She hadn't laughed in so long. Not like that. That was his power for her. Always had been. Nobody made her laugh like Chris Redfield. And then she put her hand on his arm while she did it.

And she hadn't touched him in almost two months now.

"Alright! I get it! But he's so sweet. He really is."

"But you're not sleeping with him."

"No. No, I'm not."

He watched her face when she stopped laughing finally and rubbed his arm. It was a good feeling. He'd missed her so much. More than just her body. He'd missed this. This easy laughter.

Chris held her gaze now and said, "You hard up?"

Something tingled her belly a little. "You offering?"

"I'm seeing someone. You're seeing someone. But she's not my girlfriend. He's not your boyfriend. It's not against the rules. Right?"

The wind tickled their faces. "You think those rules still apply?"

"You saying they don't?"

Down below, someone was laughing like a donkey. There was loud splashing. And Joseph was shouting up to them now to hurry up. Brad was making calls about chicken licken fricken or something. Someone was whistling.

Jill finally answered him, "I don't poach other girl's guys, Redfield."

"I'm not her guy."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm yours. I'm still your guy, Jill. I just can't be your man. What that means? I don't fucking know what that means. But I'm still your guy. Unless he is."

They held gazes again. Two different shades of blue. It was a dangerous answer she could give him. But she gave it.

"He's not my guy." It was whisper soft.

"Yeah. Shit." His arm looped around her waist to pull her into him. Her arms wrapped around his neck. It was a good hug. He squeezed her. She put her face against his neck.

Jill made some sound like she'd start crying.

He shook his head, hard. "Don't. Don't. If you do, I will. And I'll NEVER live that down."

And now she laughed, a little wetly, against him.

Down below, someone hit the trigger of an air horn. And a used a megaphone to shout up to them.

"WE KNOW YOU ARE STILL UP THERE! JUMP NOW OR WE WILL TELL EVERYONE IN THE RPD THAT YOU ARE BOTH CHICKENS."

Did they think they were twelve years old?

Seriously.

He said, softly, "We should probably jump."

"We should. We should just jump. Rip off the band-aid."

"No anesthesia."

"No anesthesia." She whispered it.

Her hand shifted to the side of his face. It turned him toward her. Chris made some sound and she nuzzled their faces together. He turned, just a little, and put his tongue into her mouth. Jill made a little desperate moan.

How was this helping anything?

His hand slid into her bikini top and covered her breast. Yep. Definitely not helping. This was not in the new guidelines for friendship. Nope.

Jill pulled away a little. "We should…"

"Yep…yeah. Stop."

"Mmm. Yeah. Stop is good."

"Yep. Just…"

"…yeah." Her tongue plunged into his mouth as she shifted and he lifted her. Her legs wrapped around his waist and his hands slid into her bikini bottoms. There was no freight train here. This? This was what desperate longing felt like.

It was needy and raw.

And it hurt them both to do it. And felt right. And scared her.

Because she was pretty sure being friends with someone was impossible when you were in love with them. And she was. She so was. She was in love with her best friend. A complicated mess on a good day, this was made worse because if they didn't stop what they were doing and someone saw them? It would hurt more than just them.

She leaped off him and he let her.

"Fuck." She whispered.

He watched her. "We could."

And now she shook her head at him. "Stop it. Stop. You ended it. You. For god's sake, Redfield, stick to your guns here. In or out."

Annoyed that she was right and he was the girl in this moment, chasing after the one that got away, Chris cursed. He nodded a little. "Shit. I want to be in, Jill. I want to be in you."

Oh. His dirty mouth. It worked every time.

"I went all in. All in. And out...and in again."

They stared at each other. They both pictured it. Her nipples said she liked it. He moved to grab her and she backed away.

"Stop it. That's not helping."

"Against the rules?"

"How the hell do I know what the rules are anymore? You have to back off I think. I can't get over you if you don't back off. And you pulled the plug here. I'm just trying to figure that part out."

Chris nodded, nodded again, and paced away. "What if…" He hesitated and plunged ahead, "What if I asked for a transfer to Bravo?"

"..what?"

"I could transfer to Bravo. Then…we wouldn't work together anymore."

Her heart was pounding. So hard. It hurt. "You want to get away from me?"

"No!" That scared them both since he pretty much shouted it. She jumped, "Sorry. No. I meant…what if I transferred to Bravo so we could do this. We could be together. Maybe if I transferred."

She stared at him. She stared at him while a bird called somewhere in the distance. "You want to tank your career to be with me?" It sounded so stupid to hear it out loud.

"No. Just…maybe I could j—"

"Let's jump." She passed by him, breathing so hard she was afraid she was going to cry. "Let's just jump down now."

Chris grabbed her arm. "Wait. Hey. What?"

Jill shook him loose. She stared at him again. "You are meant to do this, Chris. I saw that in that meeting the other day. You are meant to lead men and battle the dark and win. You're a hero. Or you will be. It's what you do. And you want to take a step down to the B-Team. For what? For the thief's daughter? Don't be stupid. Don't. I won't be the reason you fail. I couldn't live with myself if I let that happen."

"I don't understand what that means, Jill. What are you saying here?"

"You're better than me. Or Joseph. Or Barry. Or Brad." She held his gaze. And said it. For both of them, "You might one day be better than Wesker. He leads and men follow. Because he's smart and commanding. But you? You'll lead and men will WANT to follow you, Chris. Because you're good. You're good in your bones. You're made to lead. I won't be the reason you don't. I won't."

She shook her head at him again. "You were right. You were so right. We can't be together. We wouldn't just kill each other. We'd destroy each other. You're worried about getting me killed? There's more than one way to die. I'd kill you just as easily if I torched your career. You are not the guy who rides a desk in the RPD to retirement. That's not you. Don't you get it? This fucking town isn't where your career goes to die. You're too good for that. I won't be the reason you fail."

Humbled, scared, and crazy about her, Chris tried to take her hand, "Jill…I love you. I can't do anything but that."

"I know. I know that." She grabbed his face and held it. "I know it. But you were right. We are doing ok here. Let's keep doing ok. Eventually? We'll get back to being friends. Move on with Gia. I'll move on with Kevin. And we'll be ok."

"I don't want you to move on with fucking Kevin. I want you to move on top of me."

Jill laughed, so sad, so sad for him. "You dirty lecher."

"Jill...I don't know what to say."

He grabbed her wrists and turned his face into her hand. She stroked his hair. "Me either. I don't know what's left to say, Chris."

"You love me?"

So, there was something left to say after all.

She went into his arms for the answer to that. And kissed him like she'd take pieces of him with her when she left. They clung and finally separated.

"I love you, you big squish. I love you." And she turned. Terrified of falling, it turned out she needed the right incentive to jump.

Apparently, she needed the incentive of getting away from him.

She leaped over the edge toward the water and tumbled, listening to the cheers of those below. He remained on the cliff, feeling the hammer of his heart for her. Too good for this, she'd said. Too good for me is what she meant.

It was the first moment he realized that being Chris Redfield might mean picking the fight over the girl. Maybe the hero saved the day and didn't get the girl. Maybe it meant he'd lead men…alone. And she was telling him the world needed him.

The world needed Chris Redfield.

And Chris Redfield needed the girl.

But she'd leaped over a cliff to let him go. And he was still standing there….holding on to the ghost of Jill Valentine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Note:
> 
> We see here a little symbolic foreshadowing. Our two lovers and their inability to stay together because of what waits beyond. Their friendship will continue to grow in the next chapters as we move toward zombies and fighting and infection. And we see our hero alone on the cliff as Jill falls through his hands.
> 
> Of course, we know how that story ends. Shall we see if they will get their happily ever after?


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty. Needy. Greedy. Raw. We keep barreling toward the Spencer Estate. A little closer. A little further apart for our girl and her guy. And a little more together. O_o
> 
> Slainte.

VIII: Girls, Hobos, and Getting What you Need

:::::::::::::EIGHT::::::::::::::

The hardest part about being in love with Jill Valentine was sitting across the desk from her at work. He was supposed to be working on coordinating with the RPD to apprehend the priest and work toward closing down the Witch murders. Instead?

He was thinking about reaching across the desk and grabbing her uniform. He was thinking about throwing her down on their desks, while the rest of the team watched, and drilling her through their pants. She glanced up at him and smiled.

"You find something helpful?"

Chris snorted and shook his head, "Nope. Not helpful at all." He shifted on his chair, adjusting his swollen dick, "Useless. Mostly."

Jill was his best friend. That was true. She was his buddy now, in the weeks since they'd ended things, in a way she hadn't been in months. They'd managed to come out of the mess of what could have been an ugly break up somehow closer.

She popped into his room to tell him about stuff in the RPD she discovered. He started bringing coffee to work for her in the morning because she liked it from the corner cart and never got there on time to get it before it closed for the morning. Jill was always late. It was her thing.

They played Playstation and beat the zombie game. The ending was lame and boring. They played hackeysack and took Dog on walks and hikes together. They never, ever, talked about who they were seeing or dating or doing. They went swimming and diving and were constantly kick boxing each other. Sometimes comically.

Chris was AWESOME at fist fighting. Chris was AWFUL at kickboxing. But he sure tried. He kept on trying long after she knew he might be hopeless at acrobatics.

He dogged her on her dates with Kevin. He showed up at the restaurants or the bars or the diners they were at and annoyed the piss out of them. She pretty much guaranteed that he wouldn't be fucking any other woman in that house where they lived. When he brought Gia home, she cranked up her music in the living room and had a karaoke fest with Rebecca Chambers from Bravo Team.

She CONSTANTLY had girls in his house.

She had Rebecca over constantly. She had Cindy from the bar over. She had sleepovers. She had half naked women in his bathroom at odd hours. He came out once to find Felicity from VICE taking a piss with the newspaper at 3 a.m.

There was no peace for him in his house with all these women around.

Kevin was always around too. He was eating Chris' nachos and stealing his beer. The freaking gank, he never replaced what he took.

Girls were everywhere, all the time. Jill was constantly running around in a white tank top and tiny shorts. She was painting her nails in booty shorts. She was laughing on the phone in a sports bra and yoga pants. He caught a glimpse of her once coming out of the bedroom to the hall closet to get some hair stuff in a thong. A thong. A thong and some push-up bra that made her breasts look like an obscene wet dream he'd had as a boy.

She didn't make it any better when she dressed. She wore some kind of black dress that barely covered that perfect ass. Rebecca and Felicity were dressed up too. They were both beautiful girls. They were. They pixie pretty and amazon lush. But they weren't Jill.

Jill was everything.

She paused in the living room while the other two laughed and he whistled at them. He was sitting on the couch watching football. "Where you gals headed off to this evening? Some place to murder poor young horn dogs where they stand."

Rebecca giggled. Felicity said, "You want to come along? We're going to a karaoke bar in Gerbiltown."

"Sounds pretty fucking awful." And he laughed now, congenially.

Felicity loved that face of his. He was all kinds of hot. She said, "You come with us, Redfield. I'll buy you a drink and let you take me home afterward."

Rebecca snorted as she gathered her purse.

He considered her. She was hot stuff, no lie. All boobs and blonde hair and dirty looks. But she was Jill's pal. And he wasn't going to do that to her.

"Have to pass, Riker. Without any hard feelings. I'm hung up on a girl."

"That witch you're tagging?"

"Sorta. But not just her."

"Ouch. But no hard feelings, handsome. Some other time."

Jill came into the living room in knee high boots and that black dress. He could see the tops of her lacy thigh highs as she walked. She grinned at him. "You chillin here tonight, Red?"

"That's the rumor."

"Then we will see you later."

She left with the other girls laughing. And he had a visceral image of putting his hand under her skirt and finger fucking her until she screamed. Instead? He waited until she closed the door, put his hand in his pants, and rubbed one off thinking about her, Felicity, and Rebecca Chambers in a girl on girl three way.

Worked like a charm. And had him finished in about two seconds.

To get back at her invasion on his sanity, Chris tortured her at work. He filled her desk drawer with rotten eggs. He paid Louisa in carpool to have her Bug towed to the impound lot. He whoopied her at least three times a day. Once, he leaped up on the table in the cafeteria and recited a dirty poem to her about her being the "master of unlocking". He did it to the theme of Ice, Ice Baby which somehow made it worse.

Your hands are the master of opening doors…

Your fists are the master of beating up whores…

Your toothbrush is the master of scrubbing the floors…

Your lockpicks are something we'd all like to see…

That guy over there was watching you pee.

He pointed to Brad Vickers and made everyone laugh.

You probably could open the vault of a bank…

After you work out, you smell pretty rank…

You're a bit of a brown nose, we all know its true…

Your favoritest color in the known world is blue…

Jill was pretty convinced he was just making this horrid shit up as he went. Beside her, Felicity said, "That guy is an idiot."

Jill agreed as Chris went on with his horrible poem.

Oh master of unlocking, turn your picks in my heart…

I can't even promise I won't make a fart…

Felicity added, "You're aware he's in love with you right?"

Surprised, Jill turned her gaze over. "How so?"

"Girl. That guy? He's nuts for you. It's not rocket science, Valentine. It's truth. I tried to get him to take me to bed when we were hanging out last week." Felicity studied Jill's face and saw it. She saw the little flash of jealousy. "He could have done it. I know he has. The girls in accounting are always giggling about it. They call him the freight train. He throws it down when you ask."

Felicity chuckled a little, "Or he used to. Now? He apparently hangs out at home on a Friday night while his roommate has half of the RPD over for drinks and karaoke and turns down willing girls. Why I wonder?"

Jill laughed a little now. "He's my buddy. Always has been."

"Your buddy is in love with you. Big time. You better use those lock picks to lock him back up, girl. Or he's going to get hurt."

Jill watched him as he went into the last stanza of the poem.

You help stop terrorists, you once fought a witch…

Those two pervs over there would like to make you a sammich…

Oh, master of unlocking, why don't you try?

To open our hearts before we all cry.

Someone whistled. Felicity glanced at her. "I rest my case. Put him out of his misery, girl. Quick."

Jill shook her head at him. He leaped off the table and bowed. Joseph was slapping him on the back. Rebecca said, quietly, "I can think of worse things than having Chris Redfield be in love with you."

Felicity nodded, "Agreed. You sure he don't have a chance?"

Jill chuckled a little. "Best friends forever. It's not like that."

Rebecca giggled a little. "I wish it was like that for me."

Jill laughed and rose from the table. She moved across the cafeteria. Chris grinned at her, all teeth. "That was the most awful thing anyone, ever, has recited."

And now he laughed. "Seriously? You've heard Ice, Ice Baby right? That was an HOMAGE."

"You have no musical talent whatsoever, Red. It's pretty bad."

They patrolled the park when a tip came in about a body being found in the woods. It had been, apparently, eaten. The first suspect was wolves but the autopsy that came back said humanoid. Humanoid. Not human. What the fuck did that even mean?

Jill stopped to see Larry and check up on him on his bench.

He was wearing new shoes, a new shirt, and pants. Someone else had been bringing him clothing. He looked washed and well fed.

Jill said, "Hey Larry, how you doin?"

Larry grinned happily, "Good. Gots a belly full of food and clean underwear. I'm grand."

He shifted and the jacket he wore opened to show the t-shirt underneath. It was blue and had Elmer Fudd on it. She'd seen it plenty. She knew who was bringing him clothes.

"Yeah. Yeah you are."

And her heart ached. Because Chris Redfield was bringing him clothes. The big squish.

Joseph and Maggie got engaged. They had an impromptu party to celebrate. They tied the knot at the courthouse and everyone showed up to celebrate.

He washing his hands in the bathroom at the reception hall where they were having their reception. She came out of a stall and froze, watching him. She had on a pink dress that shimmered.

He wore a good suit in dove gray. It felt better than it should, which told her someone had taken him shopping. Probably the witch that waited in the reception hall.

The shirt he wore was baby blue and did wonders for his eyes.

Jill shifted over to wash her hands. There was only one towel. So they shared it. She said, softly, "It's so great about Joe and Maggie huh?"

"Oh yeah. Life's too short you know?"

"Yeah." The little purse in her had slipped and glanced off the sink, bouncing on the floor. "Shit."

She bent over to pick it up. The dress hiked up her thighs. God. GOD. He was going to earn a space in heaven for how much he wanted her and didn't touch her.

Sorta.

She collected her things off the ground and poked them back in her little purse. And he could see the very, very bottom of her perky little ass sticking out the bottom of that dress. He was rock hard and needy.

She rose and caught his eyes in the mirror.

He shifted toward her. She dropped the purse again.

He put her hands on the sink. He hiked up her skirt. He would have stopped, maybe, but he cupped her over those tiny panties…and she was already damp.

They held eyes in the mirror. And he said, "Damnit, Jill."

Her voice whispered, "I'm sorry."

For what? He didn't care.

He slid his hand into her panties and put his fingers in her. She gasped, bucking against his hand. His other hand slid up her front and covered her mouth. He pulled her back against him. He worked her body, delving and deep. The door to the bathroom shivered, signaling someone arriving.

He dragged her into a stall and shut it, lifting her off the floor with her back against his front so only his feet were visible. He kept pumping his fingers into her body while the voices laughed and swirled around them. It was Rebecca apparently and another woman. Jill, terrified it was Gia, tried to remove his hand from her but he held her mouth and fucked her with those fingers. And she couldn't care. Didn't care. Wouldn't care.

The bathroom door opened again and left silence behind.

He lowered her to the floor, turned her around, and she splayed her hands on the wall behind the toilet. He hiked up her skirt, shifted her panties to the side, and drove his fingers into her body while she crudely rode his hand. He cupped his palm around her thrusting, wet heat and the delicious curve of her ass. And he wanted to fuck her. He wanted to fuck her like nothing he'd ever known.

She mewled, gasping, and he spread those perfect cheeks of hers to see the heat of her there as he fingered her. God, she was amazing. She was wet and hot around his fingers. She was sucking him in while she humped his hand. He wanted to hook his thumb into her tight little hole but slid his hand around her hip instead, parted her creamy folds, and played with her clit like he'd own her. And she was done. She bit her lips and came, humping and crying out. He turned her quickly and put his tongue in her mouth. It was the only way he could think of to stop her screaming.

Jill made a desperate sound and grabbed his ears. They tried to each other's faces off. He kept on pumping her full of fingers while she screamed into his mouth. He pulled back to drag a desperate breath and she gasped, "I can't. I can't."

She was so wet. Her thighs were wet. His hand was soaked from her.

He wanted to drop to his knees and lick her clean.

God. She was right. They couldn't.

He had a fucking DATE out there in the hall. So, did she. She shoved him away from her hard enough to have him hitting the stall door. She didn't look at him. She escaped.

He went back to the party and ached.

Jill stopped dating Kevin. Chris heard about it one morning at the coffee cart. Felicity was talking to Rebecca about it behind him.

"Why?" Rebecca queried, doctoring her coffee with cream and sugar.

Felicity answered, "He told me she said there was another guy in there. And she didn't want to hurt him. He's pretty busted up about it."

Rebecca considered this and answered, "Who's the other guy?"

"I don't know." Felicity glanced at Chris' back and winked.

Rebecca, giggling, nodded.

He didn't see them. But they giggled a little when he went back to his desk.

She'd stopped seeing Kevin. There was another guy. It was an odd feeling in his guts. He wasn't sure how to feel about it. He didn't have the right, really, to feel anything about it.

A little girl went missing one afternoon. Her body was found near the woods and the park again. Her little face and arms and belly had been brutally gnawed open and savaged. Barry, with his two little girls, handled it badly.

He was so mad.

They redoubled their efforts to locate the perpetrators. They brought in the priest to interrogate him. They collected a few more members of the witch cult. Chris was instrumental in the whole thing.

He got the priest to start singing. He ridiculed him and poked at his ego and bad copped him until he just started shouting about greatness, and the works of the "true lord", and immortality. He preens, Chris had said, and he did. He also sang like a canary.

On the mat, Jill and Wesker grew as mirrors of each other. He taught her redirect an assault. He threw her; she came back. She threw him; he came back. His drive, his determination, his dedication to the skills he taught her was unparalleled. Her ability to get up, get back up and go on, was like nothing he'd ever seen.

He knocked her around and tried to take her down. She kept on fighting.

He taught her about anticipating your opponent. He taught her about utilizing your own pain to guide your focus. With Redfield out of her way, she flourished. She was his devoted pupil. They trained at work, after work, before work. She'd meet him in the gym at any time he asked.

If he'd been anyone else but Albert Wesker, rumors would have circulated about an affair by now. But it was never that. It was never sexual. He didn't touch her or grope her or grind on her. He didn't even likely SEE her as female. He just saw her potential.

And she gave him everything she had.

They fought without stopping one day until they were both sweaty and satisfied with the fact that neither had lost. Wesker helped her to her feet. Jill grinned up at him.

"Sir, I think I might have just won."

Curious, Wesker lifted a brow, "You didn't beat me."

"No. But you didn't beat me either. I kinda think that's a win."

She had him there.

They did pretty good at being friends, she and Chris. They were easy going and comfortable and funny. After the shift was over one day, she changed in the locker room for a date and came into the office to close down her work for the day.

He was the last person in the office, still chugging along on whatever report he was working on.

He was dedicated. She doubted there was another person alive as dedicated as him.

Chris glanced up at her and his hands fumbled on the key board. She was wearing a blue tube top and some excuse for a miniskirt. She had on kneehigh boots in black and her shoulder holster. Her hair was slick and dark around her face and she had dark eye liner, red, red, red lips and enough mascara to make her lashes look ten feet long.

Jill grinned at him when she settled in her chair and started closing down programs. "No date tonight?"

Chris shifted in his chair, trying to gather his thoughts. "…nope. No date. Just finishing up this report for Wesker. It's already a day late."

"Uh-oh," Jill chuckled and jotted something down on her notepad on the desk, "Someone's going to get a spanking if they don't hurry up."

"That's horrifying. You think he wears sunglasses when he spanks girls?"

Jill chuckled a little. "I don't think he spanks anyone, honestly. Can you imagine him naked and fucking some girl while she screams?"

No. Because he was picturing her screaming. But it wasn't his captain fucking her. It was him.

"I bet he's a weirdo who likes girls to put him in a diaper and feed him baby food."

Jill laughed again at the image. "He seems so focused. I bet he never even jerks off. There's no freight training for Albert Wesker."

She shifted and the air conditioning turned on above their desk. It blew cold air down on them and made her skin burst in goosebumps. And then her little nipples decided to poke against that blasted tube top.

Holy hell.

Jesus. She couldn't possibly know what she was doing to him. He could fucking taste her in his mouth. He had completely stopped typing to look at her. His pencil rolled off the desk and hit the floor with a tinkle of sound.

Jill said, "You have dinner plans?"

He was bending to get his pencil. He could see her tapping one of those little boots. He knew what he wanted to eat. Yeah. Yeah, he did.

He left the pencil on the floor.

Jill said, "What do you think about Indian food for a first date? Probably not the best idea huh? Could be really bad to rip a big fart at the dinner table."

She glanced over their desks and didn't see him. "Chris? Where'd you go? What are you hungry for man? That's the best way to figure out where to eat."

He was watching her thighs and boots shift below the desk. She uncrossed her legs to shift to get something on her desk. He caught a glimpse of the tops of her thigh highs. And he shifted toward her.

"What about sushi?" She intoned, closing down her report on the robbery at the movie plex, "I could totally go for a spicey tuna handroll man. What are you doing down there, Redfield? Taking a nap?"

Nope. No nap.

She felt his hands slid down the insides of her thighs. Shocked, instantly aroused, she gasped and opened her thighs for him. And he she wore tiny, lacy, little red panties. Her legs practically fell open for him.

The hungry little thing. She was desperate for it too. He was so hard it was painful.

Those red panties basically came apart in his hand as he jerked on them. Her body bucked, her hands grabbed the desk, and he filled her full of his tongue. And he showed her what he was hungry for. He wasn't gentle. He wasn't even delicate. He buried his face against her body and ate her alive. Jill made a desperate cry and he tilted her hips toward his teeth, his tongue, his lips, and his hunger.

The office door opened and Brad came in. He glanced at her and Jill put her fingers to the keys of her computer to look busy. He said, "You look hot, Valentine. Big date?"

Chris hooked his thumb into her body and sucked on her clit. He sucked it fast and hard and stole her breath. Her reply was a breathy laugh. "Something like that."

"Well good luck, yeah? I've got one myself. Excited?"

He rubbed his nose all over her clit. He sucked her creamy lips into his mouth and hummed against her body. He hummed and he killed her where she sat.

Jill nodded, smiling. Chris swirled his tongue inside of her and made her eyes try to cross. "Good luck, dude."

"Thanks. See ya."

The door had barely closed and she cried out. He set his teeth against her clit and made her insane.

Jill knew there cameras here in the office. Hadn't Wesker said as much. Her hands shot below the desk and buried in his hair. She ground his face against her body and felt him laugh, laugh and suck her swollen wet heat into his mouth to suckle. Jesus. He tongued her, he took her, his fingers fucked her while she bucked, gasping and grinding against him.

And her hand casually knocked her notebook to the floor.

She slid to the floor to get it. He drug her under the desk and filled her full of his driving fingers. His thumb found her aching apex and flicked, flicked, flicked. She grabbed his face and held on. And his voice? His dirty, wonderful voice said, "You're what I'm hungry for."

She tried to kiss him and he shook his head and pushed her back into her chair. She set the notebook down on the desk and he grabbed her hip and started licking. He didn't stop. He licked and licked and sucked and fucked and shot her brain out of her ass.

Jill grunted, "I'm gonna come. Stop. I'm gonna come if you don't stop."

And he laughed under the desk.

So, she came. She came in his mouth while he sucked on her body. And he tongued her through that thrusting, gasping, grunting release. She was sopping wet with it, with her own need, from his mouth. He licked her from one end to the other while she shuddered. And then he fingered her so hard, so deep, so fast that she screamed.

She tried to be quiet. She did. But she couldn't be quiet. She screamed and thrashed in her chair. He jerked her under the desk, covered her mouth, and kept fucking her body with his hand. "Shh. SHHH. Jill, shhh."

Right.

Surely, he was kidding.

She grabbed at his pants and he pushed her hands away. He held them behind her back and used his other one to destroy her between her thighs. She bucked, so wet his hand slipped and rolled against her. She gasped out for him to fuck her.

He shook his head and drove her into the wall of need with just those fingers. He jerked down her tube top and helped himself to a mouth full of breast. He tried to suck the whole thing into his mouth while she came, came, came. She came and gushed into his hand and bucked and arched into his sucking mouth.

And again. Again. He put her back in her chair with her top back in place, tilted her hips to his mouth, and licked her clean. He licked and rolled and laved her clean. She was making an unh unh unh sound. He raked his nails, so so gently, down the insides of her thighs and left her a puddle of need in her chair.

And he came out from under the desk, with his pencil, set it on the desk beside his notebook and left the room. He didn't even say goodnight. He just…he left.

She sat in her chair quivering.

The next day at work he whoopied her. And she set off a stink bomb in his desk that permeated all his paperwork. They had to laugh when they both, BOTH, had the same idea to doctor the other's desk with super glue. Neither could pick up a pen, a stapler, or a notebook.

And it made them laugh.

They brain stormed the cannibal murders. Joseph, Brad, and Barry were all about finding them and putting them down. They couldn't do much to stop them without knowing where they were hiding. They did A LOT of canvasing areas to try to locate them.

He was doing dishes when she came home from a date a week later. Dog was gnawing his bone on the floor under the table. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Who this time?"

"Bartender at J's."

"Go ok?"

"Sure."

He was in a pair of old sweat pants. He was barefooted and bare chested and bronze. She could tell he'd been swimming a lot lately. It made his coppery skin glow. The rest of the world burned. Chris Redfield just bronzed.

She was in a little white summer dress with blue sandals. When she shifted, he was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra. But maybe the dress, with skinny little spaghetti straps, couldn't tolerate one. Maybe. Or maybe she was trying to kill him.

Maybe.

He glanced at her in the window above the sink, "So what now? Bed?"

Oh. What an offer. But it wasn't really. It was a question. He wasn't offering. Not anymore.

Angry about it, Jill moved toward him.

She slid her hand into his sweatpants and wrapped her fist around him. She wasn't even delicate about it. She just jerked and milked him. He dropped the plate in his hands into the soapy water and grabbed the edge of the sink.

She spun him, knelt, and put her mouth on him. His hands tunneled into her hair. She returned the favor. She swallowed him like she'd choke to death on the length and girth of him. Her hands cupped, her mouth dove, her lips and tongue swirled and sucked. And it didn't take long at all. He watched her make a mad attempt to swallow the whole fat length of him and it worked like a charm.

He tried to pull her mouth off and save her but she wouldn't move. So, he shot in her mouth. With a grunt, he blew his load right into her amorous little wet cavern. She drew back, bit down on his thigh and stole his breath, and jerked up his pants.

And then she whistled for Dog and went to bed.

Just like that.

He leaned on the sink, shivered, and went down the hallway. Her door was locked, which amused him. He put his shoulder to it and knocked it open.

She was shocked and standing there in her bra and panties while she took her hair down from its pins. And on her little dresser there was a rather interesting little vibrator in blue.

Jill said, "That was locked." She glanced at the vibrator. He glanced at it. They both knew she'd been about to use it.

Jesus.

"You should go, Chris."

"Hmm. Yeah. Probably." He grabbed her and threw her on the bed. She gasped, scrambled back a little like she'd run away, and he grabbed her hips and jerked her down the bed to him. He grabbed the little vibrator off the dresser, yanked her panties to the side, and gave her back the torture she'd inflicted on him.

She didn't even have a chance to do anything but shout in surprise. Dog kept on lying on his bed beside hers and snoring. Chris climbed onto the bed on his knees. Jill grabbed his arm and wrist like she'd stop him but she didn't stop him. She let him drive that little blue monster into her body. And she was, like always, already so wet for it. So ready.

He pinned her down with a hand on her collarbone and shoved it into her while she bucked, bucked, and came with a desperate shout of release. And he jerked it out of her body while she twisted, clenched, and sobbed out his name with need. And, always the gentlemen, he jerked her hips to his face to lick her clean while she twisted her fingers into his hair and humped him.

Chris rolled off her and left her panting on the bed.

The next day he'd fixed her door and frame so she could lock it again…but she didn't lock it anymore. She didn't lock it at all.

But he didn't knock it down again either.

Two teenagers were found slaughtered in their car near the woods. Horrible. They'd lost chunks of throat and wrist and groin. It was a bloody, macabre, horrible disaster. The city was getting more frightened each time the night fell.

They imposed curfew to have people inside by dark.

Jill went to check on Larry in the park again. He had a baseball bat, a clean pair of pants, and a smile on his face. The shirt he wore? It was red and white striped and had Where's Waldo? on it.

She gave him the cash in her pocket, petted his mutt, and spent the afternoon hearing stories about Vietnam. She went back to their house just outside of town and took Dog on a run. She stayed out well passed the curfew.

Jill opened the door and let Dog inside to run into the kitchen to get water.

Chris came down the hallway into the living room.

She said, "I saw Gia leaving as I was running up. Everything ok?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. He was getting bigger almost every day. She wondered if he'd get so big that he wouldn't be able to cross his arms anymore. Her brain tried to picture it.

And he surprised the hell out of her, "She's gone. That's done. It's been done for awhile. She was just getting the rest of her stuff. And you missed curfew."

She's gone. That's done. That's what he said. Why? Why was it done?

Jill, breathing heavily and sweating from her run, queried, "Why is it done?"

Chris shook his head at her, "Doesn't matter. It ran its course and its done. You missed curfew."

He looked so angry. Surprised, she held his gaze. "Not by much. And we're outside the city limits here, Chris. So, the curfew doesn't technically apply."

"It applies. It applies to you. You get your ass back before curfew, Jill. End of story."

Oh.

Ohhhh.

Jill felt the roll of that anger back on her now. She lifted both brows. "Excuse me all the to hell but it sounds like…and correct me if I'm wrong…it sounds like you just gave me an ORDER."

Chris shifted, eyeing her. "Don't fuck with me on this, Jill. The curfew isn't a joke. You think I want to find you at the park missing half your damn face?"

Jill held his look. Dog glanced between them and skulked out of the room to hide. Jill put one hand on her sweaty hip.

"You're not my boss, Redfield. Not now. Not ever. You don't tell me what to do."

Chris shrugged now and looked serious in a way she'd never seen him. He wore command like some men wore jeans. It was effortless and fit him like a glove.

"Try me. I will drag you back here kicking screaming. I will hunt you down in whatever dive bar or bed you're in and drag you back. See if I don't."

"You wouldn't fucking dare."

"TRY ME." He never shouted. But he shouted now. And scared her. She jumped.

"You don't get to tell me what to do, Redfield. Or WHO to do. Or where to go. OR WHEN TO COME HOME." And she shouted now too. It felt good to do it. They'd been living in this house faking for weeks. They needed a good fight. "You arrogant fucking asshat. I DO WHAT I WANT."

He took a step toward her and she braced, watching him.

"Oh, what?!" And she laughed now, harshly, "You gonna drag me by my fucking hair like a caveman and MAKE ME BEHAVE!?"

They eyed each other. This was the Chris Redfield she'd read about in that file on Wesker's desk. It told the story of the guy, in combat, that didn't flinch and didn't back down and didn't relent. He faced adversity and rose above it. That was all he knew how to do. It was interesting that she was the adversity he was facing.

A big squish with no tolerance for bullshit.

And he finally, finally, answered her, "If that's what it takes, you're god damn right I will."

Jill laughed again, so angry it hurt in her bones. She grabbed her keys from where she'd tossed them on the table by the door. "Fuck you, you Neanderthal. You don't OWN ME."

"Don't do it, Jill." A warning. A threat? A promise? Who knew.

She gave him the finger over her shoulder and stomped out of the house.

And she ran.

She was the fastest person she knew. She ran like the wind. She ran straight into town and into the park. Already tired from her previous run, this one stole her breath and put a stitch in her side. She limped and felt it as she grabbed the edge of a bench and breathed.

The threatening rain finally cut loose. It soaked her face and hair and heavily panting body in minutes. Raccoon City was always raining. It didn't apparently know any other way to be but soggy and damp.

She turned, rubbing her throbbing side, and moved toward the clock tower to check on Larry.

The rain was barreling down on her now. It was heavy and accompanied by thunder and a flash of lightning. She reached the clock tower and noticed Larry wasn't on his bench. He had probably taken shelter under the bridge like he was known to do while it was raining. Sometimes during a storm he would go to J's Bar and Cindy would get him a drink while he waited it out.

Jill turned back to find a place to get out of the rain and nearly pissed herself.

He was RIGHT THERE. He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder. It was so unexpected, such a surprise, that she didn't even struggle. He kicked open the door of the clock tower and dumped her on the floor inside.

It was full of old dusty tarps inside. Cans of paint were stacked against one wall. There was a winding staircase that would take you to the top to look out over the city. Someone had written some pretty hilarious and rude graffiti on one wall that was currently being painted over.

Jill got to her feet, huffing in the damp darkness.

Chris kicked the door closed behind them.

She said, soft and angry, "You know any other way of doing things but being a fucking freight train? Like kicking in doors and dragging girls around do ya? You could try a gentler touch, Redfield, seriously. Some girls might object to being bossed around, dumped on the ground, and sneered at."

His voice filled the silence after her little speech, "The last body was found a hundred yards from here. A HUNDRED YARDS." He shook his head, laughing without humor. It was mirthless. And he was never without humor. This solemn anger scared her a little. "You'd risk your fucking life to what…teach me a lesson?"

The rage boiled in her blood. "God damnit, Chris. I CAN TAKE CARE OF MYSELF! I'm not some fucking teenager in a car necking. Stop following me. Stop bossing me around. STOP WORRYING ABOUT ME!"

And he shouted back at her. "I ALMOST GOT YOU KILLED! I DON'T CARE IF YOU WANT ME TO FOLLOW YOU OR NOT. YOU CAN HATE ME ALL YOU WANT. I AM GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU'RE SAFE, JILL. END…OF….STORY."

His shouting shook the little room. It made her heart race and pound with it. He never even raised his voice. He was so fucking congenial all the time. This was a side of him she'd never seen. And she liked it.

Thunder rumbled somewhere outside the building.

"You're not my father, Chris. You're not my boss. And you're not my boyfriend. You don't get to tell me what to do. Get out of my way. Go home. And leave me the hell alone."

"Shut up, Jill. Just shut up." He shook his head and she watched the pulse in his throat. Hard. Visible. He was so mad. She felt like poking him even more to see how mad he'd get.

"Go chase your girlfriend around and have her cast spells on you, you big idiot. I don't NEED YOU TO PROTECT ME. Your protection SUCKS. It's bossy and rude and stupid. Like you're stupid. You're so stupid. You dumped me to protect yourself. You idiot. YOU COWARD. Take your protection and stick it up your ass. Give it to some stupid girl that wants it. I DON'T NEED YOU." She was breathing so heavy, so hard. She was vibrating with it.

He was soaked from head to toe. The red t-shirt he wore was molded to his body. His body was muscled and ropey with it and wound up so tight it was like looking at a ticking time bomb. Where would he explode? How would he explode?

She finished it now, softly, "Go HOME, Chris. Go home. And leave me alone."

And his answer…his answer rocked her soul. It was a sharp hiss of regret. It wasn't anything she'd ever heard from him. Ever. He wasn't a man that dwelled in regret. "I can't. I can't. I wish to god I could."

He moved and she whispered, "Don't."

But he did.

He grabbed her and threw her against the boxes behind her. She skidded across them and rolled on the table beyond. The thrill of it fired hard and desperate. He pushed her down and she lifted her arms. She pushed on his chest and he knocked her hands away. It made her blood roar in her head.

She opened her legs even as she pushed against his chest. She was a contradiction. He was a contradiction. This whole mess was a contradiction. He jerked her to the end of the table and ground their clothed groins together. Her hands scrambled at him. He set his teeth against her breast through the little running bra.

Freight train. Yep. That was all him.

Jill gasped, "Don't. Wait."

Don't wait. That sounded about right.

And he answered, "Shut up. Stupid girl. Shut up."

She grappled at his arms and pushed. "Chris, don't. We shouldn't…just…don't."

He ground himself against her body again. She cried out and bucked at him. And he pretty much growled it now, "Shut up, Jill. Shut up and let me fuck you."

Holy hell. The dirty mouth of his.

"It's a bad idea." But her pushing hands were grabbing at him now.

"Probably. But I don't care. I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. Tell me no. Idiot woman."

"…no. Get off me."

He actually laughed. He laughed. He jerked off her wet running shorts and panties. He drove his fingers into her body while she shook her head and shoved at him. Her body humped his hand with crude pleasure. She screamed and took it, already wet and throbbing for him.

What a liar she was.

She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and jerked him down to drive her tongue into his mouth. He grunted and flipped her over on the table. He dragged her to the end of the table on all fours and buried his face against her dripping heat.

Yep. He was that too. He went to town on her throbbing, sopping, desperate body like he'd eat her alive. She mewled, she shouted, she bucked against his tongue as it drove into her body. He drove his fingers into her body while his mouth obliterated her. His other hand skipped up her belly and under her bra and cupped her breast.

He was such a dirty man. She knew what he'd do now. She knew what she wanted, what he wanted. He rolled his head up under her slapping hips, sucked the core of her need right into his mouth, flicked his tongue over her and brought her screaming. His hands humped her hips against his waiting face, against his mouth and tongue. She tried to buck herself into his hungry lips and die there.

Whatever word she was shouting, it wasn't English. Or not exactly.

Jill gasped, bowing, and came against his mouth while he licked her clean. Jesus. Jesus. He rolled her onto her back on the table. And hesitated. He hesitated.

She shook her head at him and grabbed his belt. Her hands jerked at him. She grabbed him in her first and jerked. He pushed his jeans to mid thigh and jerked her hips to the edge of the table.

Jill opened her legs wide and hooked her ankles around the backs of his thighs. He didn't drill her into the table. No. He eased his way in.

Each little snug, delving, dipping inch of his impressive girth brought sounds from her mouth that excited them both. He eased half way into her needy little body and eased back out. That's how you made love with Chris Redfield. Slowly, desperately, and completely.

Each thrust into her body earned him another inch of her. It was like climbing a mountain. It was like diving into the depths of the ocean. It was a quest for pleasure that brought them both to the highest peak of want.

She grabbed his soaked shirt and jerked it over his head. He pushed her bra up to fill his mouth with her breasts. Her hands were all over his chest, all over his back and hips. And with one more thrust, he was buried inside of her body and throbbing there.

His face. God, his face. He was so concerned. He was so turned on. He was so worried about her. Jill drove her nails into his ass. "No pain," She gasped it, "Damnit, Chris. No pain. Just love me. Please."

That was the wrong request. It was. She'd meant to say fuck me. She'd said love me. Love me, she'd begged. And she knew, she knew inside her soul, that she wanted that. She wanted him to love her. But she'd take the fucking.

The ride was wet and eager now. They moved apart, they slid together. Jill raised up to sit on the table and wrap her arms and legs around him. He lifted her and held her against his body. Those arms of his didn't even tremble with the effort of lifting her and lowering her on his body. She curled around his front and sealed their mouths together.

Wet now. Wet with rain and want and pain. Pain. Because it should have been nothing but good here. And it was laced with regret. His hands jerked her bra over her head. He kicked off his boots and walked out of his jeans.

He carried her to the tarps on the ground and laid her down on them. She shifted, opened her legs for him and let him ride into her body completely now with each slow, steady, needy thrust. It didn't hurt at all. It filled her up from chest to groin to toes to soul. There was simply no room for anything in her but him.

Their hands intertwined above her head. She lifted her mouth and kissed his chin. He turned his face, lowered it, and kissed her. He let go of her hands and she wrapped him close to her, putting her face against his neck.

Chris shook his head and caught that face, pulling it back to him. They held eyes while he slid into her body and out again. She echoed him and held his face now. Damnit, she thought desperately, she was so fucking in love with him.

This wasn't going to help anyone.

She gasped, bowing, as the slow roll of release spilled from her body and out of her mouth. Her body milked him, clenching and holding him inside of her while she came. Shit, he thought as he pumped into her eager, spasming, sucking heat, shit. This isn't how you stayed friends with Jill Valentine.

His hands adjusted her hips toward him and found that angle that made her eyes blur and her mouth cry out. Yeah. Whatever. He didn't give a fuck about being friends. Right in that moment? He just wanted to be in her.

He tongued one of those perfect little nipples and sucked it into his mouth. Jill gasped, gasped his name, and he was done. His balls clenched, he started to pull out, and she wrapped her legs around his hips and humped into him. Grunting, he gave her what she wanted and pumped his release as far into her as he could get. Balls deep in her body, he filled her up while he mouth fucked her Playboy centerfold tits. Jesus. He'd been a good guy once. Now he was stalking girls and barebacking them in dirty clock towers and fucking them so hard they bled. He was fucking on his boss' desk and risking his career.

Who was he?

Naturally he knew the answer. He was the guy in love with Jill Valentine.

And he was usually so much better at controlling himself than that. He'd let her sneak in, pick the lock on his heart, and run away with it giggling. The master of unlocking indeed.

He rolled off her. They dressed quietly. The sounds of thunder were loud and ominous.

They said nothing.

And he made sure she went home.

In the house, she put her keys on the table. Her thighs trembled. He brushed passed her to go to the kitchen and she made a sound.

Some kind of sound of something. Grief? Hunger? He didn't care.

He turned into her and lifted her against his body. Her feet dangled while he held her. She put her face against his neck. She made a little sound.

He said, so softly, "Jilly Bean, don't."

And she pushed away from him. She shook her head, again. And she shoved his chest. He let her, watching her with a kind of mad desperation on his face.

She whispered, "I'll come back before curfew. I'm come back. You didn't have to do that. I'll come back. But I can't stay here. I can't stay. I need to move out."

Jill hurried passed him. She went into her room and closed the door, sharp and hard.

Chris cursed. He cursed and went out into the garage to fight his heavy bad. How did they get passed this? How did they get back to a place where they could just be friends?

Was he fooling himself in thinking that would ever happen?

He'd broken things off, gently, with Gia. Because he knew she deserved better than to be cheated on. Before he did something stupid with Jill, he'd pulled the plug. And then she'd broken the curfew. She'd scared him to death. And he'd fucked her raw and hurt them both.

Idiot.

He was all left feet with her. He was all thumbs. He didn't know what the right move was. The right answer. He loved her and wanted her and was scared to lose her. It was an odd feeling for a man who never lingered in bad feelings. But he'd lost his parents, so quick, so sudden and the pain had nearly leveled him. How did he survive it if she died?

And was that a good enough reason to avoid the happiness she brought him?

No.

No, it wasn't. But it was all he had.

And he owed her an apology for all of it. It galled his fucking nuts to know it. He'd fucked her and fucked up their carefully laid friendship. How did one get back from that?

He watched the rain and wondered if the answers were somewhere in the wind…the wind blowing in from the West. The wind that had blown in and stolen his parents. And the wind that blown him into the station at the feet of Jill Valentine. And the wind that would, soon enough, blow down a helicopter in an imperiled forest…and leave them all fighting for their lives amongst the undead.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this will be our last chapter before we get to the first parts of the Spencer Estate. This one is smutty at the end in a way we haven't touched on yet. It's Chris smutty so it's male. And it's lacking my usual finesse. But it's the male brain so the writing is less girly smutty and more dirty smutty.
> 
> Thank you for reading this smutty, slutty, sappy and sweet little tale. It's on going. God knows how many chapters it will have. It's going to keep going as long as the brain likes it.
> 
> This girl loves that angst, drama, smut, and action. What can I say!?

IX: Something Wicked This Way Comes…

:::::::::::::NINE::::::::::::::

She didn't move out slowly.

She just…was gone.

He woke up to the pouring rain and the sound of a truck. Chris rolled out of bed in his sleeping pants and a wife beater. He moved out into the hallway to find Felicity and Rebecca and Claire. They were carrying her last three boxes.

Apparently, she'd been moving out all morning.

He glanced at the watch on his wrist to find it was barely six in the morning.

Rebecca gave him a sympathetic look as she passed. Felicity gave him a lifted brow. Claire stopped to say, "What did you do?"

Chris shook his head and grabbed the box from her. He carried it and set it on the table. His voice, so unlike him, was controlled and cool when he said, "Send her in here, Claire. And take these two out to breakfast."

Claire pursed her lips and finally nodded. She went out into the rain and Jill came in a moment later after the sound of the truck engine had died. She was soaked and wearing her favorite blue ball cap with a yellow raincoat. She glanced at her last box on the table.

"That's my stuff."

"I'm aware of that." Chris crossed his arms over his chest. It showed the muscle in them to clear advantage. "Where are you going, Jill?"

Jill moved to get her box. He blocked her by stepping in front of her.

She sighed with exasperation, "I told you where I'm going. I'm moving out. I'm going to go squat with Rebecca for a few days while I find a place. Dog can come visit me there."

Dog was looking at her forlornly from his bed in the living room. She tried not to let the guilt get to her. "It's the right thing here, Chris. Ok? It's the right thing. Let's make a clean break. I want us to be friends, I do. I DO. But I don't know how to do that and live together. Not anymore."

She glanced up at his face. Not shaving for three or four days had put a heavy spill of whiskers on it. She knew if she touched them, they'd be soft and smooth. Not pokey. Not rough. The only thing that was rough was standing there with him and keeping her hands to herself.

Jill said, softly, "This is the right thing. You know that. It's how we keep working together. It's how we stop…"

"…stop what?"

Her hand came up to touch those whiskers. Soft. And smooth. It didn't hurt to touch them. But it hurt to touch HIM. She cupped his cheek. Her thumb skimmed his mouth.

And Jill whispered it, "This. Stop this. I don't know how to be friends with someone when you're all twisted up inside of me. I'm trying. I am. And I'll get there. But I can't do that fifteen feet from where you sleep. You saying you can?"

Damnit.

He didn't want to know that she was right. He didn't want to know that he was wrong here. And he wanted, even less, to know he'd put them here. Him. Not her. She'd done nothing but try to love him. And he'd hurt her, nearly gotten her killed, and put his hands all over her. He wanted to be friends too. He did.

But what he really wanted was to stop loving her. Loving her was going to get them both killed. He could FEEL it, in his bones. In his blood. He just didn't know how to stop.

He went with truth. Because that's just the type of guy he was. He said, "I don't know if I can. I don't know. But I know I don't want you to go. You're my best friend, Jill. Stay here. Stay."

Her hand slid down the side of his neck and over one of those rapidly expanding shoulders. Those arms, she thought wildly, they'd end up big enough to crush a man if he kept going. It thrilled her in her belly and her blood.

Chris shifted and his arms curled around her slick, wet coat. She leapt around his front like a monkey. Her little ball cap was damp against his face as they hugged. It was a good hug, tight and hard. She said, "I want to stay. I want to. But it's the right thing for me to go. I need to go. Tell me you don't know that."

He shook his head where it was pressed against her neck.

The big squish. He loved her too much. It was all over both of them. It was all over them like poison or pain or skin.

Jill leapt down and grabbed the box off the table.

He said nothing now as she took it out to the big box truck outside and put it inside. He watched her slam the back and lock it. She came back up the walk and stepped inside.

He was leaning in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. She unhooked the little key from its bronzed .50 shell that was her key chain and brought it to him. She held it out to him. "I already left a check for my half of the months rent on the mail plate in the kitchen. It'll give you time to find someone else to rent my room to."

He stared at the little key between them in her hand.

She glanced at his face and he held her gaze.

There was the low rumble of thunder around them. Rain water dripped down her nose. She finally said, "Take it, Chris. Please."

He answered, "Keep it. It's yours. That door? It's always open for you, Jill. Always."

Jill shook her head and took his wrist. She turned his hand over and put the key in it. She closed his fingers around it. "It's not. Not anymore. It's closed. And that's ok. It's ok to close the door on Valenfield, Chris. Maybe we just go back now to being Chris and Jill."

Dog whined sadly from the floor behind her.

She swiped her hand across her cheek; saying goodbye to the rain there. She swooped her fingers over her nose. And she finally, finally, let go of his hand.

Jill said, "I'll see you at Joseph's barbecue next Saturday. Wesker has me with Bravo all week working on melee skills. So…peace out, homie."

She laughed weakly and turned. Dog circled on his bed and laid down with his shaggy head on his paws. She petted him between the ears. "I'll come get him when I'm settled in. Ok?"

Chris said nothing.

So, it was going to be like that, she thought, just a goodbye made from silence. That was it. That's what happened when you said goodbye.

She stepped out into the rain. It was cold on her face. It was heavy and thick. It spilled against her cheeks and washed with the tears that started. She got about four steps before she felt the dam burst. She stood in the rain beside the big truck, put her face in her hands, and let it go.

Dog whined again on the floor.

The little key was stabbing into his hand.

Chris laid it gently on the portrait hole so prettily cut out of the wall between the kitchen and the living room. It was gold amongst the white. Dog was looking out the window now and whining sadly.

"I know, dude. I'm sorry. She'll be back soon. Until then, you and me are the two amigos right? It'll be ok buddy. It'll be fine."

Chris petted his floppy bacon ears and glanced out the big bay window.

She was just standing there in the rain with her face in her hands.

She looked so small in that big yellow coat. She looked so lost in the pouring rain. Her dark hair stuck out in bedraggled little pig tails under that blue cap. Her father had given her that hat when she was younger. It was falling apart. It was faded and soft.

It was the only real gift he'd ever given her.

The sad little girl in her ball cap and her big yellow coat…so lost in the pouring rain.

"Cheese and rice," Chris slipped on his sandals and opened the front door into the pouring rain.

The ugly gray sky rumbled and grumbled testily. Like a grumpy old man, it muttered its discontent as it cast its wet distaste down onto the waiting world.

He started her when he spoke, raising his voice above the rain, "You even know how to drive this big fucking truck?"

Jill made a little sound and lowered her hands.

Her face was puffy from crying. "I can manage it. I got it here, didn't I?"

It was half in the driveway, a quarter in the road, and half in the grass. Chris laughed, softly, "This is the worst driving ever done. Ever. And that includes teaching Claire to drive."

"Shut up, Red. Go back in the house. Leave me alone."

Chris leaped into the cab of the big truck and Jill followed, unable to do anything else. She stared at him while he adjusted the mirrors and buckled his seat belt. "Come on, Valentine. Buckle up. We don't have all day here."

A few moments passed and she leaned back in her seat to buckle in.

He backed up the truck and eased onto the narrow road. They lived a good distance out in the country closer to Wombat Junction then Raccoon City. The mailing address was still Raccoon but the outskirts of the county instead of the city.

The radio in the truck was playing hard rock. He flipped it until Billy Idol started singing about it being a nice day for a white wedding. Jill was still staring at him.

He glanced over and then back at the road.

"What?"

"What are you doing?"

"I'm driving the truck. You suck at it, clearly. So, someone's got to."

"Kiss ass, Redfield. Why are you driving my truck?"

Chris laughed a little. "Friends do that, Jill. I meant what I said before. We can be friends, Jill. If you need space to do that, I'll give you space. I'm not trying to hurt you. I'm not trying to use you. I'm just trying to keep you in my life. However that works for you, I'm in."

"You're trying to be my guy?"

He glanced at her again. She was looking at him so steadily.

"Maybe. How's that working out?"

"You're always my guy. That doesn't change because we can't love each other….you said you wouldn't fail me."

Shit.

He eased the truck to the side of the road. There was a cow lolling in the rain. He turned in his seat to face her. "I did. I did say that. I meant it too. I got the right ideas sometimes, Jill, but I'm not perfect. I'm sorry I failed you. I fucked up. But it won't happen again. This is how I keep that promise."

"You didn't fail me, Chris," She grabbed his hands and squeezed, "You didn't. I failed us both. I keep pushing too hard. I keep pushing. I don't know any other way but full force. I just pushed you away and I'm sorry for it. You're my best friend too. My best friend. And the only one I've ever had that matters enough to hurt me."

The thunder rolled loudly outside the truck. Rain dripped down her nose. He finally turned back to the steering wheel. "We'll figure this out, Jilly Bean. I promise. Let's get you moved in first."

Rebecca lived on the backside of Turtle Creek in a pretty little condominium. It was easy enough to move Jill's meager possessions into the big room she was going to be occupying. When the last box was settled in the corner of the room, they stood together quietly and watched the rain pound the window beside her mattress on the floor.

He said, "I'm fucking sorry like hell for all of it, Jill. I don't do regret. Ever. But I'm buried in it now."

Jill laid her little ball cap on her tiny desk and set her rain coat over the chair. "No more sorry. That's always been our thing right? No more sorry. We just…we just deal with it. Wherever it goes from here."

Chris set her motorcycle keys down on the dresser. Jill said, "You want me to drive you home?"

"I can call a cab."

"You kidding? That's just stupid."

They had unhooked her Bug from the box truck. They headed back toward his house in the rain. Her little car smelled like cinnamon and apples. Curious, he lifted a brow at her.

"Felicity puts potpourri in here all the time."

"It smells awesome. But I want apple pie now."

Jill chuckled a little. "Right? What could possibly taste better then apple pie on a rainy day?"

"Pussy. But you'll have to take my word for it." It had been reactionary to say it. It was just him. He was all kinds of dirty mouth. The moment it was out there, he wanted to take it back.

He almost apologized.

And then Jill laughed.

And he remembered why they were friends.

"I kissed a girl once." She said conversationally as she turned onto the road toward his house, "In highschool."

Chris shifted his gaze to her face. "…keep going. Embellish."

Jill snorted out a laugh. "Best friends, bottle of vodka, curious drunken hands. You know how it goes."

"Do I? Enlighten me."

She glanced over at his face. He was so amused. In the dreary gray light, his eyes were like the ocean. Jill smirked, "You're a dirty pervert, Redfield."

"True story. Help a brutha out and tell the story."

Jill told him a sordid little story about curious girls and kisses and pig tails. He was pretty sure she was just telling him about a porno she'd watched once but it was in good fun. And she was, as always, entertaining when she told it.

She rolled up into his driveway and idled the engine.

Chris shifted in his seat. "Thanks, kid. Now I get to go inside and flog the bishop while picturing your nubile teenage self tongue fucking the preacher's daughter."

Jill laughed loudly. "Why the preacher's daughter?"

"Why not? It's dirty. It's hot. It's my fantasy. Leave it alone." He opened the car door and then turned back, "Oh yeah. Here."

And he tossed the key to his house into her empty ashtray. "Just in case. The rule stands: anytime you need a place to go; you come here. No judgement. No pressure. Just us. You and me. That's it. Take the key, Jill. Please."

"….I'll take it. And thank you."

"Take it easy, kid." He opened the door and climbed out into the pouring rain.

Jill watched him run through the rain. She felt her heart shiver. All because of a tiny little key that should have meant nothing.

And meant everything.

The weeks went by easily enough. With Jill ensconced with Bravo team they didn't have to deal with the awkward silence that might have occurred. They handled each other as they'd always done…with humor.

She wrote his number on the bathroom stall of a notorious trucker hook up spot. He paid the garbage man to put bags of garbage in her car on a particularly hot day. She filled his desk drawers with sand. He filled her car with sand.

She came out of work to find it spilling sand all over the parking lot beneath it. Joseph said, "That SUCKS."

And Jill just started laughing.

Dog went back and forth on a daily basis. She had him Monday, Chris had him Tuesday. They had dinner on Wednesday and Dog went home with Jill. Friday at work Jill threw Wesker to the mat…twice.

Chris came to work to find his desk in the lobby. He sat right down and started working.

Jill's uniform in her locker was pink. Bubblegum pink. She put it on and wore it, whistling.

The days passed and it got easier. They were friends. And it got easier.

The barbecue on Saturday was a lot of fun. There was volleyball and badminton. There was hotdogs and hamburgers and potato salad. Joseph and Maggie lived on the lake so the swimming and diving and dunking was everywhere.

Jill was coming out the bathroom and bumped into the person attempting to get to the kitchen. Her hand pressed on his arm, his caught her elbow, and she looked up. Joseph said, "You two have met right?"

Jill smirked.

And the rookie said, "Jill Valentine. I'm still waiting for that coffee."

Jill laughed a little, "Leon Kennedy. Get the job?"

"Fingers crossed. I have to pass the physical assessment and finish the last stages of academy training. But it's looking promising. Officially, it's looking like first September for me to start protecting the good people of Raccoon City." He hadn't let go of her elbow. She hadn't moved her hand off his arm.

Joseph pursed his lips and smirked. "Leon is friends with Maggie's brother. I thought it was a good way for him to get to know some people on the force."

The rookie was young. She judged him as a few years younger than her. He was also still holding her arm.

And it was the first time, in a long time, she wasn't interested in pulling away. Leon Kennedy was smooth chested, athletic, lean, and had a tattoo of wolf across his upper left shoulder and biceps.

Click.

She said, "You'd be right, Joe. You wanna get that coffee now?"

Leon smiled a little. And his hair shagged into his eyes. Yeah, Jill thought, not interested in pulling away. What was it Chris had said? Maybe this was how they stayed friends. Maybe they just…let go.

She hadn't been ready with Kevin. Maybe she was ready now.

And he answered, "How about a beer?"

"You read my mind rookie."

Joseph was whistling as he moved out to his grill to start flipping burgers. It was early May. The weather was balmy. His wife was sitting on the table next to him. He had good food, good friends, and good news to share: Maggie was expecting their first baby. Also, he was pretty sure he'd just set Valentine up with a new boyfriend.

Valentine was a good girl. Friendly, funny, gorgeous. He'd met Leon Kennedy and said: These are two people that needed to meet. Only good could come from it. Kennedy hit on all her levels: handsome, fancy, funny, and had that floofy hair she liked.

He watched them walk down the shore together and sit on the pier. And he felt like a matchmaker. Maggie said, "You do that?"

Joseph grinned and nodded. "I sure did. Whatcha think?"

"Oh, he's all kinds of cute. Young, handsome, a little nervous maybe. You sure he can handle her? Jill is hell on wheels."

"Jill is soft inside and sweet. She needs someone as soft as she is. She keeps hooking up with jerks that use her and hurt her. Nice kid like that? Just what she needs."

Four feet back from him, Chris Redfield was very aware of the conversation.

He was also aware of the ugly green monster in his guts. The baby. The eagle eyed baby with the best score on the course. Of course. He shot back the rest of his beer and let it curdle like rotten milk in his belly.

On the pier, Jill was swishing her feet in the water. Kennedy was sweet. He was three years younger than her and desperate to carve out a name for himself. He came from a strong family name and a shitty father. So, they had half of that story in common.

He was telling her about his father, "The black sheep in a good family. He was a cop. He went in to impress his parents, got wrapped up in the system, and started peddling for extra money."

Jill nodded, watching that face as he spoke. "It was drugs at first. He stole drugs, he sold drugs. And then he started skimming money off busts. The nail in the coffin though? He started pimping."

Jill held his gaze, no judgement. He lifted his mouth in a wry smile. "My old man was a drug using, dealing, pimp cop. What a legacy huh?"

And again, she thought, CLICK.

"My old man is in the pen, again, for stealing from old people."

Leon widened his eyes at her.

"Oh yeah. He was a running con…on the elderly. He was taking their life savings. He was robbing seniors. He was a thief. How's that for a legacy?"

Leon held her eyes. And they both started laughing.

He said, "So I became a cop to restore the family honor. And you?"

"To EARN some family honor."

They laughed again.

And Leon Kennedy shifted. He shifted on the pier. And his arm sorta settled behind her.

She glanced at his profile. She didn't see any games there. But it put him close enough to study the tattoo on his shoulder. Jill asked, "What's with the wolf?"

"Ah," He looked a little sheepish now, which was utterly fucking charming. That young face of his was killer. She had to admit. "The wolf is synonymous with courage and victory. I was a little lost after highschool. I was kinda skinny and awkward. I ran track and had a girlfriend. We probably broke up fifteen times in four years. She dumped me again about three weeks ago. So? I got drunk and got a tattoo. Which…isn't like me at all. I usually just make a bad joke and shrug it off."

"She was a good girl?"

Leon laughed now, highly amused, "Hell no. She's a bitch. Totally. Constantly cheating on me."

And now she lifted a brow. "Why stay with her then?"

"…I loved her. I wish I had a better answer. But I did. Somebody told me once, we accept the love we think we deserve."

Jill glanced over. She glanced over. And he was laughing there on the shore. He was laughing with Samantha from impound. Samantha and her big boobs.

Ugh.

Jill felt that like a kick in the guts. "They'd be right. What would cause a guy to run from love?"

Leon laughed a little. He had a good laugh. Kinda nerdy, kinda soft. That smile was the clencher though. And that face. And that strawberry blonde hair. Ten years from now, Leon Kennedy was going to be the total package. Right in that moment? He was utterly adorable.

"Fear, mostly. We run from girls that scare us. Twisty chics. Messy chics. Those are the scary ones."

Jill felt that too. She was too twisty for Chris Redfield apparently. She said, "I'm kinda twisty. You sure you want to sit here on this pier with me?"

Jill shifted a little toward him. He turned his head to look at her.

And he glanced at her mouth.

Click.

"I think I'll risk it."

Samantha was laughing. And Chris was carrying her over his shoulder into the water. Jill said, softly, "Me too."

Leon Kennedy shifted a little more. Jill thought, he wants to kiss you. She craned her neck a little and down he came. There was a series of laughs and shouts and splashing close to them. The water was cool that flecked over their faces.

He said, "I'm glad you came to this shindig."

And Jill thought….CLICK.

And maybe this was how you moved on from Chris Redfield. You just...clicked.

And you said goodbye.

Raccoon City – Summer – 1998

On the shimmery, steaming pavement, Alyssa Ashcroft was bringing attention to the police tape that flapped, gently, in the summer breeze. She was a beautiful woman; blonde, busty, and possessed of a lovely fashion sense. Her red suit was catchy, her eyeliner brought out the blue of her eyes, and her perfect bone structure made her face unforgettable.

Humidity lingered like a foul stench over the roasting little metropolis. The heat was rabid, hinting at an ugly summer. It was early June and already sporting temps in the high eighties at 9 a.m. It didn't bode well for the rest of the season.

People were found lounging anywhere there was water or relief. Sweaty, tired, angry drivers were caught in rush hour drives baking beneath the burning rays of mother nature's brutal shift from a rainy spring to a burning summer. Air conditioners were fired up and dying by the dozens. Shorts and swimsuits were as far as the eye could see.

Alyssa Ashcroft was trying to get the Captain of the S.T.A.R.S. to give her a damn comment.

"Captain Wesker! Captain Wesker!" She gestured wildly and drew those reflective glasses to her face, "This is the third murder in as many weeks. People are starting to panic. Is there any movement on the case? Or is the city going to continue to fear being eaten by cannibals?"

Looking cucumber cool in the blistering heat, save for a fine sheen of sweat on his smooth forehead, Albert Wesker, wearing his uniform without flinching at the scratchy heat of it on his skin, replied, "We've leads, Ms. Ashcroft. The city can rest easy. The STARS were formed specifically for cases like this. I have the best minds in the business hunting them down as we speak."

Those best minds were gathered, BRAVO and ALPHA alike, around the conference table.

Joseph was sitting against the far wall, going through files. Rebecca was at the table digging through witness reports. Enrico Marini, BRAVO's team leader, was staring at the cork board with Barry trying to find a connection between the murders.

Brad and Edward Dewey were at the foot of the table flipping through similar crime data statewide. Chris and Kenneth Sullivan were tossing the hacky sack and spitballing theories while Jill and Forest Speyer were pouring over crime scene photos.

Chris said, "What about a cult?"

Kenneth caught the hacky sack and chucked it back. Chris caught it bounced it off his wrist, elbow, and then made it disappear. Rebecca found it in her hand.

Impressed, she glanced up, "How!?"

Chris winked at her as she tossed it to Jill.

Jill bounced it off her head and it flipped to Forest. Forest, tall, skinny, and hilarious, used his butt to send it flying across the room. It hit Enrico in the back of the head, was caught by Barry, and thrown at Brad.

Brad smacked it like a volleyball and it went up, up, and came down to be bounced off Chris' foot. Kenneth headbutted it toward Edward…and the game went on.

"No cult," Barry added, "There's no symmetry to the killings. None. It's random. And it's not even the same really."

Jill piped in, "The first attack was brutal. The second was worse. The coroner said it was at least TWO sets of human jaws that did the damage there."

Kenneth answered, "So we have multiple assailants and no idea where they are coming from."

Chris said, "The pattern of killing indicates the forest near the park. But that's a broad fucking area. We could comb it for days and never find anything."

Rebecca lifted her head and flipped the hacky sack to Jill. "What's out there? The train yard for the Ecliptic Express."

Forest added, "Does anybody actually live out there in the woods?"

Curious, Enrico turned his head, "Unlikely. There's some hunting cabins out there, of course. But the coal mine in the mountains was abandoned years ago. With the bears and the wolves, I don't think it's popular to just go out there and hunt. Maybe during deer season. But the timing is all wrong."

Richard Aiken came in carrying a tray of coffees. Everyone gathered around to get one. Richard took up a chair next to Rebecca.

Joseph said, "We should do airborne passes over the forest."

Chris was already nodding, "Agreed. We have four good pilots between us. We can split shifts. One to fly, a few of us to look for anything that might tell us where they are. Focus on the mine and the train tracks as a first order of business. If they are living out there, they're gonna need a place safe from the elements."

The plan in place, they started tossing the hacky sack with a vengeance. Enrico and Barry were good at spiking it. Rebecca was really good at volleying it up in the air. Jill was good at diving across the table and keeping it alive.

Chris had a tendency to bounce it and it would, randomly, appear across the room. Brad was good at knocking it to Richard who lobbied it over the table toward Forest. Forest would bounce it playfully on his wrists, his head, his knee and send it up and out toward Edward who'd send it spinning to Joseph.

For two different teams, they played hacky sack like a single organism.

Jill dove for it, missed, and slid right off the table. She smashed into Chris, he pinwheeled his arms, and down they went in a heap. Luckily, Rebecca dove and saved the day. The hacky sack stayed in play, everyone laughed, and Jill chuckled.

She looked down at him on the floor. "Sorry, big guy. You ok?"

"I'll live. You have, however, harmed my huge ego."

She shifted and her eyebrows went into her hair. "I can feel your huge ego. It seems just fine."

Chris laughed and hugged her. He'd missed her. He'd missed the flirting. Maybe hacky sack was the key to best friends forever.

He said, "Let me help you up, kid."

And Jill shifted. She shifted, just a little, but it brushed over his huge ego. And he narrowed his eyes at her.

She gave him a lifted brow. "What?"

"That felt deliberate."

"….really?" She had to whisper a little now, "That thing is twelve feet long. It encompasses your entire lower half like a third leg. No matter how I shift, I'm touching it, Red. Not trying to grope you, just stand up."

Congenially, Chris chuckled, "You want to grope me?"

Rolling her eyes, Jill rose. She put a hand down for him. He took it, brushing off his butt as he rose.

Brad said, "You can dive on me if you want, Jill. I won't make you get off afterward."

Joseph quipped, "Sounds about right. You can't make any girl on earth get off, Vickers."

And everyone laughed.

Jill let out a little laugh, turned back to the group…and her hand brushed over his groin. Just a little…swipe.

Chris jumped a little and narrowed his eyes. She walked off to join Rebecca. But that had definitely felt deliberate.

Chris said, "I'll go gear up the chopper. Who wants in on the first pass?"

It was a Friday night. NO ONE wanted in on it. Everyone had plans.

Everyone but Rebecca Chambers.

She was happy to tag along. Sweet kid, she was eager and friendly. She was nervous and talked a lot. She put him at ease during the flight.

He circled the tree tops and circled the perimeter and Rebecca used NODS (nighttime ocular device) to scan the low lying areas. In his headset, she was saying, "I don't see anything suspicious. The trainyard has a few areas that could be vandals or potential living arrangements though. You want to touch down and take a look?"

"Sure. Let me find a clearing. Settle in."

They circled close to the trainyard and sat down in a wide open clearing. The chopper blades turned up dust and dirt as it settled, easily, and the rotating tornado became a whomp of air and tapered off to silence. Chris removed his headset and helped Rebecca out of the chopper.

It was easing toward twilight. He pulled his sidearm and gestured. She did the same. And she looked NERVOUS AS HELL about it. Trying to put her at ease, he touched her arm.

"Rebecca, relax. The odds are that there is nothing in that trainyard but, possibly, some homeless people sleeping. If there are hostiles, we will radio for back up and stand down until they arrive. We're not here to play hero. Ok?"

Rebecca looked pale but nodded. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

He always forgot she was barely eighteen. A baby. A genius but a baby. She'd come to Raccoon City trying to make a name for herself. She'd graduated medical school as a minor. She had the brains of Frankenstein, the looks of Tinkerbell, and the indomitable will of Ghandi. She was something pretty great for being the size of a ten year old boy.

She barely reached the middle of his chest. She was…possibly…five foot tall. She also, maybe, weighed ninety pounds. Because he was a guy, his brain pictured her naked. She was slim and small and skinny. But she was cute. He tried to imagine thrusting into her tiny body with his big dick and couldn't picture it. She wasn't even as big as his dick.

And so he made himself laugh.

Rebecca glanced up at his face. "What is it?"

"Nothin. I'm good. Just stay at my six ok? Don't engage unless necessary."

"Roger!" And she gave him a thumbs up.

Jesus. She was the cutest thing ever. She looked about ten years old.

The inspected the first empty train car of the box train they came upon in the train yard. The yard itself was empty and filled with unused trains. The tracks diverged into two lines and offered the viewer the sight of graffiti ranging from hilarious (a cat farting on a bird) to the dirty (a detailed description of someone named Stella's wet pussy) to curse words and invented anti-government propaganda.

They cleared car after car with a series of sweeps and movements. There was no sign of torture or cannibalism or anything worth raising an alarm.

The area was pretty easily explored. And they came across two homeless guys eating soup from a can during their exploration. Chris gave them the cash he had on them and his jacket.

Quietly, Rebecca watched him as they made their way back to the chopper.

He felt her watching and said, "What?"

"You gave them your coat."

"I did."

"Why?"

"They needed it. I didn't."

Rebecca watched him for a moment as they stepped into the clearing. He met her eyes and tilted his head. "Chambers, you stare a lot."

She laughed a little and started walking again. "Sorry. I always thought you were kinda arrogant and rude."

And she was also painfully honest.

Curious, he sat down in the open doorway of the chopper and she hopped up next to him. They shared a soda while they sat. "Interesting. Why?"

"Honestly?" Rebecca sipped the soda, "You have a stick up your ass at work. I saw how you were with everyone there. I mean, you've got that face and that body, so I figured you were just turning girls off so they'd stop chasing you."

Amused, Chris laughed. "Most people have a face and body, Chambers. Without them, what would be? ….besides scary as hell."

"….does it matter?" And then she did air quotes. She did air quotes around the word matter. Because she was a science nerd. And had just made nerdy joke.

Chris laughed. He just laughed. And he patted her leg.

He didn't see her face when he did it. But she grabbed his vest and pulled him down…and he got it. His brain said: SHIT and she kissed him.

She straight up closed those little eyes, puckered her mouth, and just laid one on him.

Sweet thing that she was, she poured herself into it like she'd die if she didn't.

And he didn't have the heart to stop her. Because she looked so sweet. And then she pulled back and rolled her little bottom lip under her teeth and gnawed at it.

And she giggled.

She said, "Sorry. I wanted to see what it felt like."

"What?"

"Kissing a freight train."

Chris blinked. He blinked again. And then he laughed. He liked laughing. He liked her face. She looked like a curious pixie. She was small and sweet and young. And made him feel old.

Rebecca said, "Is Jill your girlfriend?"

Curious, he considered his answer. And went with truth. "No. Why?"

Rebecca shifted where she sat, "She's my friend. So, I wanted to be sure. I don't want to be making trouble."

Chris laughed and looped an arm around her. She sighed and snuggled against him.

"Chambers, what a girl you are. No. Jill Valentine isn't my girlfriend." Anymore, he added, anymore. And it still felt like fire and pain in his fucking guts.

"So…then I don't feel bad telling that that was my first kiss."

Chris froze and blinked. He looked at pixie face in the setting sun. Yep. She was serious. So he replied, "Seriously?"

"Yep."

"…why?"

"I was always ten years younger than all the boys I went to school with. Who was going to kiss me? I'm no Jill. Boys don't look at me."

Chris considered that. And he could see the conundrum. Little thing, young, and smarter than all the other boys that were older and dumber. She likely intimidated the shit out of everyone. It was a hard road for a young girl.

"Boys over look girls like me, most of the time."

"Hmm. Hang on."

He caught her chin and turned her face up. She made a little sound and he kissed her. It was a good kiss. He kissed her smooth and soft. It was sweet. It was gentle. It was, for a girl that hadn't ever been kissed before, a wonderful first time.

She sighed as he leaned back.

And he said, "There. That's what you want to compare to. Find someone who kisses you and makes your skin throb, Rebecca. Otherwise? Don't bother kissing them."

Rebecca said, softly, dreamily, "You have someone that makes you feel that way?"

"I do. Otherwise? I'd keep on kissing you."

She shivered at the image. And didn't feel quite like an invisible little girl anymore. And she wondered how Jill Valentine could ever, ever, say no to the freight train. As the girl leaning against one muscled arm, she couldn't imagine ever wanting anything more than another ride.

Maybe he didn't make her skin throb.

The damn air conditioner went out at his place. It was three thousand degrees and the air conditioner blew. Of course, it did. He tinkered with it some, cursed it some, and kicked it some. He called the super and let him know but there wasn't much hope of having it fixed any time soon.

Defeated, Chris sat in the living room drinking beer, playing the zombie game, and hanging with Dog while he sweltered. Where was Jill when he needed her? He could just see her face when he rang her up on a Friday night to ask her to come fix his air conditioner.

The idea was comic.

One – he knew she was on a date. He'd seen date all over her at work today. She'd worn make up and fixed her hair.

Two – he didn't have a date. So, he was home on a Friday night doing nothing. And he did NOT want her to know that.

Rebecca kissing him on the chopper was the closest thing to a date he'd had in a long time. Which, in hindsight, was kinda sad. He pictured himself grabbing Rebecca and throwing her down and drilling her through that little Medic outfit she was always wearing.

Amused, he patted Dog and blew up zombies instead.

Sweating, slick from it, he took himself out into the garage to beat the shit out of his heavy bag. After about forty minutes of that, he did some push ups and lifted weights. When he was smoked and dripping, he went back into the moist house to find Jill's left over tools.

Enough was enough, he was going to defeat the air conditioner. It was time.

After about an hour of digging around in the dark, he finally found two wires that had come loose. Chris flicked them and heard the machine chug and shiver. He lifted his arms above his head and fist bumped himself.

Who needed Jill Valentine!? He could do this shit all by himself.

Proud like a man who'd just climbed a mountain, he went into the kitchen to reward himself with another beer. He was judging his Friday night as pretty awesome now. Cool air had started to pump from the vents again. And he was rocking a pretty strong buzz.

It was dark in the house now save for the light from the television in the living room.

The front door jiggled.

He set the mostly drank beer down on the counter and waited. He wondered if he'd really heard it. The knob jiggled again.

He was half hoping a cannibal was going to be on the other side.

Chris opened the drawer next to the steak knives and pulled out his Glock. He clicked off the safety, jerked a round into the chamber, and moved to the door. The knob jiggled again and he put his back beside the door and waited.

The silence was loud. The air from the vent was cool on his face as it blasted down from the ceiling. Dog was sleeping on the bed in his room.

The door squeaked a little as it finally opened.

The hand of the intruder came into view and Chris grabbed their wrist and jerked. There was a gasp and he slung them against the wall, threw a hand against their chest, and aimed the pistol at their forehead with the other. About ten seconds after that, he could see their face in the flickering light from the television.

"…Jill?"

"Are you going to shoot me?" Her eyes were wide but her voice was irritated.

"Shit. Sorry." He lowered the gun and turned back to shut the door that was hanging wide open. He locked it and the deadbolt. "There's cannibals running around. I'm sure you've heard. What the fuck were you doing?"

"Picking the lock." She moved away from the wall slowly.

"Why? I gave you a key."

"Yeah. I didn't have it on me."

He turned back from looking out the window and stopped. She was dressed in…something. It was something. It was denim and snug. It was paired cowboy boots tooled with some kind of design. The dress was barely below her groin. There was a fat belt with a turquoise buckle around her narrow waist. The dress looked like a big men's work shirt with wide cuffs and buttons down the front. Four of the buttons were left open enough that he could see all kinds of cleavage in it.

He said, "So you broke into my house?"

"I did. I didn't think you'd be awake. I wanted to see Dog. It's 2 a.m. Chris. Why are you awake?"

He lifted a brow at her. He moved into the kitchen to get another beer. "Why are YOU awake, Jill? Shouldn't you be at your boyfriend's house fucking?"

Curious, she studied him. He was a little tipsy. She could always tell with him. And he was soaked in sweat. The white t-shirt he wore was stuck to him like glue. The camouflage sleeping pants he wore were sweaty. His bare feet, however, looked adorable.

"No boyfriend. So, that's a negatory." Jill followed him into the kitchen. He handed her a beer and she cracked the top to sip it. "What about you? Shouldn't you be out giving some girl a ride on the freight train?"

Chris chuckled and turned to lean on the counter. Jill leaped up beside him and sat down. They clinked beers companionably.

"Not tonight. Rebecca Chambers came on to me in the forest today though. So, that happened."

Jill choked on her beer. She literally choked. And Chris had to slap her back to help her.

"What?!"

"Oh yeah," He laughed again, "She asked if we were together. I said no. She laid one on me. Sweet kid."

Jill considered as she sipped. "You like it?"

Chris shrugged now and peeled off the sweaty shirt he wore to toss it over a chair. "It was sweet. She's a virgin. Clearly. And, more than that, she'd never kissed a boy before. So, I kissed her. It was very innocent."

Jill was quiet, watching him.

He lifted his head to look at her. "What?"

"You like her?"

Again, that shrug. "She's a nice kid. A little young for me, don't you think? And I think I learned my lesson about shitting where I eat at work."

And Jill said again, "You do. You like her."

That laconic shrug. It could mean anything or nothing. "She's sweet. Unassuming. Friendly. She's got a good head on her shoulders. She made me laugh. I could do a helluva lot worse."

"Without a doubt."

Chris unhooked his watch and set it on the counter. Jill watched him for a long moment. "I've been hanging out with Felicity and Rebecca a lot lately."

"I noticed."

"We also chill out with Samantha from impound."

Chris glanced at her face, trying to figure out where she was going with this. "Ok."

Jill shifted on the counter in the semi-darkness. "She told me she's into you."

"Yeah?" He considered that and took a pull on his beer, "She's good lookin. I could probably get into that. You weird with it?"

Yes.

"No. We're friends. If you want to date her or Rebecca, it's ok with me."

Chris nodded. He turned to the fridge to root around for stuff to make a sandwich. "Who are you seeing these days anyway?"

Jill considered him. "Nobody really. I've been kinda flirting with that rookie that you met that day. We talk on the phone a lot. He's up in New York finishing up at the Academy so it's tricky."

Ugh.

Chris sighed and gave up searching for food. He closed the fridge door. "How's that going?"

"Ok. He's funny. Hot. Pretty."

"Yep. Totally your type."

"That's the rumor."

Chris set his beer down on the counter. It was dark in the house but getting cooler by the minute. In the war of Chris Redfield versus the air conditioner the score was: Chris -1 Air Conditioner – 0.

He was a little drunk, a little tired, and a little sick of the weird vibes between them. So, he stopped being polite. He said, "What are you here for, Jill? Dogs in the bedroom if that's what you came for."

Jill set down her beer on the counter beside her. "I came to see Dog."

"Ok." Chris rolled his tight neck and started passed her, "Claire turned your old room into a guest room. So, feel free to stay the night. Dog sleeps in there on the bed anyway."

She watched him head down the hallway toward his room and sat there on the counter, swinging her little cowboy boots.

And then she moved down the hallway after him.

Chris was grabbing a change of clothes from his closet to take to the shower with him. She came up behind him and slid her hand into those soft pants he loved so much. She slid her hand around him and made a little sound of surprise. He made a small gasp.

Because he was already hard.

Her voice was so hoarse when she said, "Are you hard for me?"

She put her cheek against his sweaty back to hear the rumble of his chest when his low voice answered her, utterly quiet, "I'm always hard for you."

Jesus. She ached for him.

She started to move her hand. She started to milk his eager body. Chris spread his hands on the wall in front of him. He stayed there while she curled against his back and touched him. "I came to see Dog…"

She was whispering while she tugged at his need. She felt his body shiver while her free hand slid around his hip and tugged. And those soft pants spilled into a puddle on the floor. "And take a ride on the freight train."

She put her teeth against his slick back and he was salty. Salty. The scent of him made her damp in her panties. He'd never be a man that glistened. He was too big, too hairy, too much. He was just sweaty, just slick, and just right.

She could feel his resist her and hated it. His voice was shaky when he rasped, "It's a bad idea, Jill. Cheese and rice, you gotta stop."

"…I can't." She almost moaned it. And killed them both. Her hand slid up his sweaty chest, tugged a little at the hair on his pecs, and settled over his racing heart. She nipped along his spine while he leaned on the wall, breathing sharp and fast. On her tip toes, she put her mouth against his ear and curled against his back like a kitten. "Say yes."

Her milking hand dragged a grunt from him and a shaky breath.

He shuddered in her arms and thrilled her.

And then he turned.

He might have said stop. He might have said stop again. But she was in that little denim dress and those boots. And the dress was open like a dress shirt around her very naked body.

She'd come over in boots, a little dress, and utterly bare beneath it.

She'd come over for a booty call.

Cheese and rice.

He grabbed her so fast it stole her breath. She gasped, shocked, and he threw her against the dresser. It hurt. Her knees hit the old wood and rattled.

She barely grabbed the dresser to hold on and he jerked up her dress, fisted his hand in it, kicked her legs apart like he'd frisk her, and drove his fingers into her body. She shouted, she bucked, and she fucked back against his invading digits.

Jill couldn't do anything but watch his face in the mirror. His face. He looked so…angry? No. Not angry. Feral. He looked feral. Like a beast. Or a hungry wolf. Or something.

He jerked her dress down her arms and threw it away. One hand fisted in her hair and the other kept on thrusting into her body. In, out, in, out and he smeared that slick, creamy, wetness up her crevice and all over her quivering little butt. His hand came down and smacked. He smacked her perfect little bubble butt while she let out a silent shout.

He started to grab a condom from the dresser drawer. She slapped her hand over the drawer to keep it closed. "Don't be stupid. Fuck me. I didn't come here for a fucking gentlemen. Do it."

"Jesus." He gritted it out between his teeth as he watched her skin pinken from his spanking. "This what you want? You want me to treat you like a whore?"

"Yes. Freight train. Yes." She held his eyes now in the mirror. "Yes."

"Yeah." She'd come for a booty call. So, he'd fuck her like some nameless slut. So, he'd stuff her full of his cock and watch her buck and scream. That's what he was to her now. Her booty call. It tried to hurt him, which surprised him.

And then she moaned, mewled, and said, "Please. Chris. Now."

In that moment, watching her beg for it…he didn't care. He didn't care about anything but splitting her open and watching her scream.

He slapped her thighs open further and grabbed her perfect ass in both hands. He opened her enough to watch the slide of him as she angled at her tight, slick, needy little hole and pushed his way in. She gasped, she jerked, she bucked…and her body sucked him in like a mouth.

The mirror reflected back the wide open O of her mouth, her flushed face, her hooded eyes. She watched him. She grabbed the dresser to support herself as he kicked her legs open wider to take him. He rolled her taut little cheeks in his fists, kneading her, spreading her to see her slick crevice and her tight little hole. And the sight of him invading her throbbing cunt.

God.

He was torn between obsessed need for her and hate for all of it.

Because there was no love here. There was just fucking. And she was so much more than that.

But she was mewling. Mewling. Mewling.

So, he hooked a thumb into her tight little hole, watched her bow and shout, and he shoved his enormous cock into her sucking little pussy at the same time. He stuffed both her little holes while she bucked and fought against it and came around him. She came. She came wet and riding and raw. She came shouting his name.

And he started fucking her. Fucking her like all the girls in his life he'd drilled and never loved. He stopped thinking about her like Jill Valentine, his best friend, his other piece, and started thinking about her as a hole that needed filled. Fucking her like he didn't love her.

She was open for him now. She was slick and wet from her orgasm. He spilled a hand over her body and smeared it all over her ass while he worked his thumb into her ass and his dick eased in and out of her hot sheath. She was ready.

Freight train, she'd said.

So be it.

He hooked an arm under her hips, popped his thumb out of her little hole, and pulled her off his thrusting cock. She made a gasp of relief to be empty so sharply and he tossed her on the bed on her back. She bounced, shuddering, and he shoved her onto her belly again.

His hands jerked her hips up and it made her body like a teepee for him. It put her ass up in the air obscenely, like an offering. One hand gripped roughly into her hair and the other grabbed her hip to jerk her back on him. He impaled her, sharp, sharp, hard. She screamed. She screamed and met the slap of his body with her own. His balls made a meaty wet sound as they struck her slippery slit. He went hilt deep, ground there, and jerked out to ride in again.

And then he gave her what she'd come for…he freight trained into her body while they both gasped. He grunted, he groaned and she moaned, crying out, as he found that spot in her body and hammered it like mad. It would have been just dirty, just fucking and sucking and nothing…but she leaned up.

Jill leaned up, curled her body back against his hammering, and turned her head. He made a sound and slid out of her body. He grabbed her chin and rolled her to face him. She crushed their torsos together and filled his mouth with her tongue.

Gasping, he ground out, "Shit…"

And threw her to her back on the bed.

She opened her legs, he collapsed atop her, and plowed into her. Jill screamed, high and loud. No painful scream this time. No. This was all pleasure. It was all need.

They slapped together, wet, fast, hard. She grabbed his hips to urge him on. He spread her legs by grabbing her knees to hold her open for him. He pushed those knees back and angled her body up to take more of him.

She cried out, "Kiss me!"

And he did that too. He dropped his mouth and kissed her. And he couldn't stop. Couldn't stop any of it. Because he had to give her all of it. And he gasped into her mouth, "Jill..Jill…fuck…"

And she laughed breathily. "We are. We are. Oh god. Hurry. Now. GOD."

She cried out as he dropped one hand and flicked her throbbing, throbbing, throbbing clit with his thumb. Twice. Just twice. And she started coming. She tightened around him like a vice. He grunted, shuddered, and jerked out of her sucking body.

She made a sound, bowing, and he flipped her over. She mewled and he spread her little bottom again, hooked his thumb into her eager little ass again, and came, he came, spurting and jerking all over that heart shaped ass of hers. He painted her perfect pink ass white with stripes of him.

And then he smeared it around with his pumping dick.

Without another sound, he collapsed beside her.

She lay on her face, panting, panting, panting.

She turned her head to him. He was watching her and breathing hard and fast.

She said, "You want me to go?"

The silence was long and loud. She felt it echo and hurt her. He felt it echo and hurt him. But he shook his head. He shook his head no.

So she stayed.

And they fell asleep watching each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Note:
> 
> So this guy was all kinds of dirty at the end there. I do tend to write the male perspective better. Such is my curse. We may finally be ready to tackle Spencer in the next chapter. Although I'm sad to say goodbye to the team! That means they die ;_;


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is our last chapter before we hit Spencer hard and start tearing up the canon. Yay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note:
> 
> So this chapter will tie up the drama for Chris and Jill for a little while. It will start to bring us to the fateful night in July. I'll play around in the Spencer Mansion but, again, remember I haven't played the game in some time. My memory won't be EXACTLY canon. It will be loosely based.
> 
> Keep throwing me PM's about what fits and what doesn't fit. I like it. I plan to see if this story can survive through Darkside Chronicles and the End of Umbrella, Revelations, and 5. After 5, we don't see Jill again, so it's subjective.
> 
> We'll spend time in Jill's missing years with Wesker and the gross OC's I have in place for her. We'll see what Chris does with his missing years without her. And I'll touch, just a little, on other characters that tie into their story. Remember, as you're reading, I'm not leaving them together as a couple, not yet, because it's about their FRIENDSHIP in the beginning and their roles as LOVERS and, ultimately, twin souls. That has to see other relationships to get there.
> 
> Jill will have other lovers. Chris will as well. Don't turn aside from the story for it. Ultimately, we know, that their path will come together when it matters.
> 
> Thanks, as always, for reading. It's why I'm still writing!

X: The Long Goodbye, The Thief's Legacy, and The Beginning of The End

:::::::::::::TEN::::::::::::::

Jill woke up still wearing her cowboy boots.

She was alone on his bed and listening to Dog snore on the floor. He hadn't even covered her up which wasn't like him at all. She could hear the shower going as she rolled over to watch the heat lightning slash across the sky beyond his window.

They'd clearly slept there for some time on the rumpled bed. Her body told her he'd used her in ways that he'd never bothered before. She liked all the tender spots and aches and bumps and shivers…and hated that it felt almost sad to like it. She'd reduced them to two people that meant nothing to each other.

She'd literally shown up for nothing but sex.

He knew it. She knew it.

And he'd tried so hard to be her friend lately that she felt kinda awful for using him. But she'd been hard up. She'd needed the sex. She could have thrown down on some guy in a bar but…she didn't want some guy in a bar. She'd wanted him. That wasn't changing. Friends or not…she still wanted him.

His face…it hadn't said anything about loving her. His face had said all kinds of fucking. His face had said nothing. His face had been an animal mounting another animal.

She'd thrilled and chilled at the same time.

Jill stared at the ceiling above the bed, watching the small fan rotate there.

She heard the shower turn off. She heard the door open. She saw the puff of steam that followed him into the hallway.

She was lying on her back on the bed, knees bent, sideways with rumpled covers all around her. Her hair was sweaty and stuck to her face. She had whisker marks all over her neck and face. He walked into the bedroom drying off his body with that towel. It was the only thing between skin and eyes and him.

His hair dripped onto his shoulders. His chest was still damp and slick.

Jill said, softly, again, "You want me to go?"

A glance at the clock told her it was just shy of six a.m. now. Lightning flashed again outside the window. But no rain. There hadn't been rain now in days. A dry, hot summer had followed an overtly rainy spring.

Chris toweled his junk dry and stopped, watching her there on his bed. Those boots. That's all she was wearing. Cowboy boots with her ten feet of legs bent at the knees and her arms tossed so casually above her head. She was all muscled arms and toned belly and big tits.

God.

He wanted her to go.

Because he wanted her to stay.

And it pissed him off.

So, he said, "No." And dropped the towel.

He grabbed her boots and jerked her to the end of the bed. She made a sound and opened her legs. She was still sticky and slick from him before. He tilted her, gripped her hips, and thrust into her so hard it made cry out.

One hard thrust and he was all in. He never would have done it. Not to her. Not like that. But she wanted a booty call. So, he gave her one.

Her little boots were cool on his legs as opened her thighs for him. Her hands came up to slap against his chest. He knocked them aside and slapped them down on her chest to pin her there. And he rode her. He rode her like a rodeo bull. He rode her body while she shouted, jerked, bucked and took it. He knew she could take it. She knew it. And he knew just how hard to give it to her without hurting her.

Freight train, she'd said, give me the freight train.

He fired into her body for the second time in so many hours and watched her come apart. Her watched her tits bounce, watched her body shiver, watched her shout and cry out and he wanted to cover her in him and leave her lying there soaked in his seed. It was…an odd feeling for him. Possession wasn't so much of his thing. Hadn't ever been. But it was here.

He didn't.

He didn't soak her in his seed.

He said, gruffly, "You on the pill, Jill?"

She was making a small mewl of sound as he, oh so slowly, slid in an out of her eager body. She couldn't focus. She gasped, quivering, "..w-what?"

He let go of her pinned hands and palmed a breast. "You on the pill or what?"

She had been, of course, while they'd been together. But it had been awhile. So he didn't know anymore. He pulled almost out of her and thrust back in, feeling the slap of their bodies.

Jesus.

Jill gasped again and scrambled her hands on his hips to roll him in her. "Yeah. Yeah. On the pill, yeah. Hurry."

"Awesome. I'm gonna fill you up." He grabbed her flailing hands and threw them over her head. He curled her body up against his like a pretzel, rolling her so those legs of hers shifted around his sides and she was angled up and ready. His hands pinned her wrists and he tried to fuck her bowlegged.

It didn't take long. She was coming in seconds, shouting and shaking. He held her wrists in one hand, pinned her collarbone with the other, glanced down to see himself fucking her fast and deep…and he was done. He came in her sucking little body in a hot, sticky burst. He just pumped her full of his juice and felt her eager sheath suck it in like an eager whore paid by the ounce.

Jill made another little mewl of sound and her boots bounced uselessly against his ass as he finished, pulsing thick and hard and veiny inside of her throbbing center.

With a grunt, he pulled out of her body.

He slapped her sweaty ass once as he moved. No cuddling. No holding. He just turned to his dresser and started digging for clothes. "Get some sleep if you want. Hang with dog."

"…where ya going?" She gasped, still coming down, shaking.

"I'm taking another turn at the wheel this morning. Rebecca and Barry are gonna ride shotgun. We'll take a pass over the mountains."

Jill, heaving out breaths a little, rolled to her side to look at him. "You want me to tag along?"

He used the towel on the floor to clean himself off before he started putting on his uniform. He glanced at her and shook his head. "Nah. You got better stuff to do on a Saturday I'm sure. Call your boyfriend. Go take a drive up to see him. Take Dog with ya. He's bored here when I'm gone anyway."

Jill felt a little funny in her belly watching him. His tone was…odd. Dismissive? It was something.

"No boyfriend. He's a friend, kinda. I don't know where that's going exactly."

Chris shrugged and snapped on his thigh holster. Jill watched him, quietly. She sat up as he started passed her and grabbed his forearm. She said, "You mad at me?"

He shook his head and laughed a little. "Nah, kid. Not mad. You want to grab a movie later?"

She was so confused. But not really. But kinda. Because he was Chris but he wasn't. He was cool but he wasn't. She turned him toward her and went to her knees on the bed. Even kneeling she wasn't nearly tall enough to reach him. She dragged him down by his vest and kissed him.

He gave her a solid smooch on the mouth and smacked her ass.

He didn't hug her, didn't grope her, and didn't linger.

"Thanks for breaking and entering, Valentine. Haven't had a girl ever pick my lock and ride my dick before. It was a helluva Friday night. Fixed the A/C, fucked a pretty girl in boots, and beat the hoard on the zombie game. That's a win/win/win for Chris Redfield."

Jill shook her head at him. "Again with the third person. That's pretty douchey, Red."

"Chris Redfield takes offense to that. See ya later, kid. Get some sleep."

She listened to him in the kitchen getting a cup of coffee and his keys. He was whistling. She listened to him until he left the house and then she rolled to look at Dog.

"Somethings off right? I'm not crazy here. Am I?"

Dog woofed softly.

Jill sighed. "Yeah. I didn't think so either. What'd ya we go take a look at that "fixed" A/C before the whole house catches on fire, huh?"

And Dog woofed again.

It was almost like he was laughing.

….

They were circling over the Arklay Mountains when the chopper made a sputtering sound. Chris said into his headset for the other two, "Hey. She's making noises on me here. I'm gonna circle back to the home base here and take a look at her."

Barry answered him, "Sounds good. I'm not seeing anything but some birds and a few wolves anyway out here. Looks like a pack of wild dogs maybe out near the mines but, otherwise, it's deadsville."

Rebecca added, "The mines themselves look empty. Not even any homeless people from what I can tell."

Chris said, "Roger. Let's head back."

He touched down on the helipad to find Brad waiting for him along with Kevin Dooley, Bravo teams pilot. The three of them set about diagnosing the noises on the chopper. She had a leaking fuel line. It was an expensive fix and would put her out of commission for a few days while Brad waited on parts. For the time being, they were down a chopper. So only Bravo's was able to make flights.

It limited their protection and inspection detail. So, Chris spent his afternoon at the range. He had blown apart three targets and was gearing up to take a second run at the obstacle course when he realized he wasn't alone.

Captain Wesker was coming down the hill toward him.

Chris turned and waited for him.

"Sir?"

"Chris," Wesker watched him, considering. Time was pushing closer here to begin his game. With little hope of the others offering much in the way of useful data, Wesker still had high hopes for Chris Redfield. Redfield, like Jill, impressed him. He was driven by something different than the girl.

He was driven, not by a need to prove himself, but a need to protect. He was, without a doubt, a hero. A hero that would ultimately push toward saving the weak without compunction to protect himself. He was a dead shot with a pistol. An unerring marksman with an enviable skill with those fists as well. Chris was always training. It was rare to find him without some goal of improvement. That kind of unflappable dedication deserved respect.

Wesker was paying him a great deal by designing obstacles to test him. Many. He could barely STAND the wait.

For now, he was going to push at the younger man and see where his limits were.

"I know you are still sleeping with Jill Valentine."

There. Wesker threw that between them like a grenade. He watched Chris struggle with it. He watched his face flash.

And, Wesker was always curious about the human response, so he pushed.

"I was willing to stay out of it, Chris. Even though I felt it limited both of you in terms of performance. I tolerated the jokes and the flirting and the banter. Because I was young once and can appreciate attraction and interest and a good fucking for an eager man."

Chris shifted, uncomfortable with the conversation, and with Wesker so casually referring to Jill as a "good fucking".

Wesker thought, it was time to see if he's casual pushing had paid off. It was time to see if Redfield was willing to fight twice as hard and twice as well for "his woman". He knew they were suffering some kind of separation here. He needed them back in each other's main radar. The human condition and response to emotion would impact the data when the fight began. He wanted to measure all of it. The only way to know was to push now and see what happened. He knew that meant setting himself up for a hit to make that happen. "But you are sabotaging a promising career for the spread of a woman's thighs, Chris. It's not only foolish, it's asinine. Jill Valentine is, potentially, the best I've seen in a long time with knife play. But her skills are limited. She won't survive long in this profession. She will spread her legs for a superior and cost herself a promising career."

Chris felt something curdle in his gut. His first impression of Albert Wesker had been a grudging respect. It had followed on the heels of a sense of something "creepy" that had mostly been related to his superior's inability to do more than pantomime any real emotion. But that had been easy enough to understand. Wesker was simply a professional man. He didn't step outside of the bonds of his job to allow emotion to play a role in how he did it. It was why he was the best at what he did. But he was out of line here. And worse? He was wrong as hell.

He was talking about Jill like she was a whore.

"With all due respect," Chris took a slug on his water bottle and eyed his Captain in the humid morning air, "You're wrong about Jill, sir. She's dedicated and smart and savvy. She struggles with command a little but who doesn't? I've followed men I didn't respect before. I've followed men I did. Jill makes you earn her loyalty, sir. And she doesn't fuck her bosses."

Wesker felt the thrill in his blood. He was about to see how far Chris Redfield would go to defend her honor. So he said, knowing full well what would happen, "I find it hard to discern any difference between fucking one's boss and fucking one's coworker, Chris. We both know she was the aggressor between you. I don't fault you. She's quite beautiful. But she's calculating and volatile. She needs a firm hand and an authoritative voice to command her. She'll never be content to simply fuck the help and eventually she'll toss you aside for someone with more power. Don't fool yourself, Chris. I don't know her well but don't be surprised to find that when you take away her skills that set her apart in the team, you may find she's nothing more than a sad little girl with a hunger for something better."

Chris felt his jaw flex. He licked his teeth.

Wesker said, "I'm just trying to save you from damage to your career over a woman, Chris. Jill has yet to prove herself. You came from a promising career, are headed toward a brilliant future…I'd hate to see you ruin that for a piece of ass."

That was it.

That was all it took.

Wesker saw it coming and could have stopped it. But he was laughing with delight as it happened. So, he didn't do anything but wait.

Chris dropped the water bottle, he rotated, and he punched his Captain clean in the face.

Wesker, as he stumbled backward, thought that, objectively, it was a bit like being kicked in the face by a bucking bronco. There was power in those fists that couldn't be overlooked. He could likely hold his own against a couple of very scary friends he'd soon be dancing with. When the bullets failed, he'd be able to survive. Wesker could FEEL it.

He could also feel his face throbbing.

Which irritated him but was for the greater good.

Barry Burton was shouting from the sidelines. Rebecca Chambers was standing there frozen in horror. Brad Vickers looked, vaguely, like he might urinate on himself.

Joseph Frost let out a yell, "Red, what the FUCK!?"

Chris shook his hand to restore the feeling. "I'll take whatever punishment you see fit. But I won't stand here while you talk about her like that. Ever. She's not a piece of ass. She's dedicated and she's determined and she's strong. She would never compromise herself to climb the ladder, ever. And you have no right to say so. You don't know her. You don't know a damn thing about her. And you won't talk about her like that…ever again. I don't care who the hell you are."

Wesker rubbed his jaw, smiling behind his hand.

He'd suspected but now he knew. It was done. Redfield was in love with her. He'd fight now, harder and faster and long then he'd ever have done so on principal alone. And keeping Jill Valentine alive had just become more important than anything else. One – because she was Chris Redfield's purpose. And Two -because she was going to become Wesker's soon enough. She wasn't a piece of ass. No.

She wasn't just a pawn on the chess board. She was the most important one. She was the Queen. And Wesker would use her to checkmate the King and win the game soon enough.

Burton had grabbed Redfield's arm to stop him from swinging again.

Chris shook him loose and grabbed his bottle of water from the ground.

Wesker said, "I apologize for sounding that way. I was out of line. But this can't stand, Chris. Surely you know that."

"Yeah, I know that."

"You're on probation until further notice."

Chris grabbed his assault bag.

Barry made a sound. "Captain Wesker, sir, is that necessary? Things got a little out of hand here."

Wesker, curious, asked, "Will you apologize, Chris? Perhaps we can find another punishment."

Chris slung his bag over his shoulder, "I won't apologize. I'd do it again. I'll take the probation."

Barry grabbed his arm again, earnestly. "Don't be fucking stupid here. Apologize."

"No. He deserved it. I'll take the fucking probation." He started up the hill toward the RPD building.

Wesker called after him, "I didn't dismiss you."

Chris, feeling the fire of it in his blood, called back, "So fire me. Right now? I don't care."

Wesker felt his mouth lift in a wolfish smile, "You're suspended Chris, effective immediately."

Chris shook his head and laughed, mirthlessly. "Awesome. I'll take it…sir."

And the sir sounded like a curse word from his mouth.

He reached the top of the hill and slammed into the RPD building. And the rest of Alpha and Bravo stood there staring. Wesker finally said, in a tone of command, "Enough. Show's over. Get back to work!"

Rebecca hurried off to find Jill Valentine before she heard it from someone else.

Her little motorbike roared up to the curb of his house at half passed seven that evening. It was mid June and sweltering hot. Kids were jumping in sprinklers and splashing in pools. Jill was in a tube top and her mini skirt with knee high boots. She wasn't wearing a helmet.

He was in the garage with the door open, beating the shit out of the heavy bag. The boombox on his work table was blasting Bon Jovi through the neighborhood. He was singing about giving love a bad name.

Shot through the heart, he sang, you're too vain. You give love a bad name. You're a loaded gun.

Jill felt like it was a personal attack.

Maybe.

He stopped hitting the bag when he saw her. But she was stomping toward him. Pissed, it seemed. Good. Let her be pissed.

He was so mad it hurt in his body.

He could HEAR the blood in his head.

She grabbed his sweaty arm and jerked. He actually stumbled as she shoved open the door and slung him into the house.

"Watch it, Valentine."

"Shut the fuck up!" She slammed the door and shouted it. She shouted at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you!? You told him to FIRE YOU!?"

Chris jerked at the tape on his hands. He shrugged one shoulder, blowing hard from his workout. "So!? Who gives a fuck? He was WAY out of line."

"Why? What did he say? What could he POSSIBLY have said to warrant punching him in the FACE and taunting him to FIRE you!? You big fucking IDIOT!"

Chris picked up the vase of flowers on the table and launched it. He just…launched it. He turned and threw it so hard it shattered in a million pieces against the far wall. It scared her. She jumped.

He pointed at her and spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm not an idiot. I'm not. He doesn't get to open his fucking mouth and shit all over everyone else because he's the boss. He doesn't get to do that. I don't give a fuck who he is."

Jill looked at him, exasperated. "What did he SAY!?"

"He called you a whore!" And he shouted that so loud that it made Dog whimper and run away to hide. Jill literally jumped where she stood. "And maybe you're right. Maybe I'm a big fucking idiot for defending you. Maybe so. But he doesn't get to call you a whore. I don't give a flying rats ass if he's the god damn Captain. Or the Pope. Or the fucking President of the United States. He doesn't get to belittle you and talk about you like you're a piece of ass. Ever. I should have kicked him in the balls. I didn't. And that took all I had."

Each word he'd shouted was punctuated by him pointing at her. It was the most animated she'd ever seen him. It was all emotion. For a man with few words, it was a speech. It was a declaration. It was incredible to see him full of feelings and just erupting all over the place.

Jill said, so softly now, "Did he really call me a whore?"

Chris laughed, mirthlessly, "He implied it. He warned me you might be willing to trade sex for power. He doesn't have any respect for women, Jill. None. He's a fucking pig. And I won't work under him anymore. I hope he fires me. Because I can't work for someone like that."

Jill moved toward him.

He put out a hand to stop her.

"Don't."

Jill wrapped her arms around his waist. She could FEEL him vibrating with anger. She just kept holding on. "Shut up. Just shut up. Did you punch him defending my honor, big guy? Did you? You fucking idiot."

"Shut up. Nobody has ever. EVER…cared enough to defend me. I bet he didn't call me a whore. I bet he just talked like an idiot guy. I bet that's it. He just assumed I'm a gold digging tramp. Because he didn't know me…but you do. And I bet you fought for me anyway. Did you? Did you fight for me anyway, Chris?"

She was holding so tight to him. He was trying to hang on to the mad and failing. She was holding so fucking tight. "Best friends, Jill. I meant that. I'd rather work at a McDonald's then stand there while someone impugns your integrity like that. I won't just sit there and let that happen."

Jill laughed, so softly, "You'll apologize to him."

Chris jerked and she held on, stroking his back. She was…soothing him? She was something. She spoke with her ear over his heart, "Listen to me, Chris. Apologize. Thank you. Thank you for being you. I love you for it. But apologize. He might be a misogynist. But I just think maybe he's seen the wrong kind of women his whole life. Either way? He's your superior. And you can't burn your career down for pride. Please. I can't watch you ruin yourself. Play the game, apologize. He's a good leader…even if he's a sexist pig."

Although she didn't even think that was true either. Because he'd taught her so well. He'd singled her out. He'd trained her. And he'd never once mentioned anything about her being female. It was a curious thing to know he'd pushed Chris this far.

And it was even more curious that Chris COULD be pushed this far. Such a calm, laid back man. His fires burned bright and hot beneath that laughing demeanor. And he was bone deep, soul deep, GOOD. Champion of the underdog and savior of the weak.

She rolled her face and put her mouth over his slick chest. She kissed him, over his heart, and stole his breath. Her face rolled up to look at him. "Did you punch our boss in the face to defend my honor, Chris Redfield?"

And now he smirked…and he chuckled. "Seems that way."

"You treated me like a whore this morning."

Shit.

She watched that fire over his face. And that was part of it. He'd treated her badly last night, this morning…and Wesker had called her easy. He'd treated her like she was easy. And the guilt had come out of Wesker's mouth to rub him raw. It was a double edged sword. He'd punched Wesker to defend her and to punish himself for treating her like an easy lay.

What a fucking boy scout he was.

Chris said, "No, I didn't."

Jill rolled her eyes.

She leaped and he caught her. Her legs wrapped around his waist. Her hands slipped over his sweaty face and gripped. He tried to turn his head and she smacked his face and jerked him back to her. "Stop it. Stop. Faker. Liar. Redfield, you liar. Kiss me and shut the fuck up."

She kissed him like she'd eat him. He opened his mouth and let her. He finally broke free from her mouth with a desperate gasp.

"Christ, Jill."

She grabbed his face and held it. "I can fight my own battles, big guy."

He tried to shake her grip loose on his face and she smacked him again. He gave her angry eyes now. And she said, "Stop pulling away. I can fight my own battles. I can. But I love you for loving me enough to do it for me."

He tried to pull away again. Jill bit his mouth and stole his breath. "Stop it. I mean it. I love you, Chris. I LOVE you. You can keep running. Go ahead. Keep running. It won't change anything. You can't get rid of me by treating me like I don't matter. I've had men do that my whole life. But I know I matter. I KNOW I matter to you. So, stop trying to get rid of me. I don't need to be your girlfriend. But I need you to be my guy. Be my guy. Damn you. Be my guy."

She felt his whole body relax. She felt him relent and his hands came up to tunnel into her hair. He pulled her into him and squeezed. She hugged him so tight she was afraid she'd break him.

Sweaty, humbled, he looked down at her. "This isn't how we stay friends, Jill Valentine. You showing up to grab my dick at 2 a.m, isn't helping. You monkey grabbing me and rubbing your panties on me isn't helping me keep my hands to myself."

She laughed now, hoarsely, "Redfield, this is exactly how we stay friends. We've always had this shit happening with us. Denying it? Pretending it's not there? It's what makes us so awkward together. So maybe we can't date. But we can do this. We can do this together, Chris. Because it's the kind of friends we are. It just is."

They held gazes. "Promise me you'll come home before curfew. And be safe."

Jill considered it now, watching him. "I don't think I want to say yes to that. Saying no before got us here. I think I'll keep saying no."

Chris laughed a little, holding her against him. He could set her down. But neither wanted him to.

"You punched our boss. You dumped the witch."

"I did."

"The first one I get. The second I don't. Why?"

"I didn't want to cheat on her. She's a nice girl."

Jill held his eyes now. "Who were you cheating with?"

He was quiet for so long she grabbed a handful of his ass to get him to answer.

"Whoa. Easy there, Valentine. You'll get me excited."

Jill laughed a little. "Who were you cheating with?"

And his face said it all. "Nobody. Yet. But I knew eventually I wouldn't be able to keep my hands to myself anymore. I went under the desk and ate you out at work the other day. You were done for the day and closing down your computer. You'd changed out of your uniform. I could fucking TASTE you in my mouth. You kept shifting in this little miniskirt you're always not really wearing. Those boots of yours…they haunt me. I KNEW you were wearing a thong. So…I just..I had you. I had you under the desk."

They held gazes for a long moment. "And I wasn't stupid enough to think it would stop there, Jill. I'm mostly a good guy. I don't fuck other girls when I'm dating one. The guilt of going down on you while I was with her nearly killed me."

She stroked his back, desperately in love with him. He was a good man. So devoted. So determined. He didn't know how to do anything half assed. So, he'd felt guilt where other men wouldn't have bothered.

"And I let you suck me off. So, I had to deal with that. I told Gia there was someone else. I let her down easy. She's a nice girl. Gorgeous. And she liked me. But I can't get you out of my fucking head. So, I did the right thing."

She stroked his sweaty hair now, tenderly. "I came over last night and used you."

There. It was confession hour it seemed.

His face was so sweet. So calm. And so gentle. "I know that."

Jill shifted where she was hitched to his front. "I shouldn't have done that."

Chris lifted a brow at her. "Curious. But I'll bite. Why not?"

Jill touched his cheeks. His hands eased up the backs of her thigh and cupped her little butt. And he was right…it was a thong. Damn her.

"Because that's not who you are. Is it?"

His hands fully cupped her naked bottom now. She made a little sound of surprise and delight. And he stroked her smooth skin.

"I'm just me, Jill. Just me. So maybe this is the kind of friends we are. Maybe we punch our bosses and fuck like bunnies and fight bad guys together. Maybe that's who we are."

Jill gasped a little as he kneaded her pert bottom and rubbed her against his groin.

She whispered, hoarsely, "Maybe we are. Best friends?"

"Cheese and rice. Who would say no to you?"

So maybe, he thought desperately as stayed wrapped around him torturing him with her friendship, maybe he was the guy that punched his boss, threw aside all the rules, and risked everything for Jill Valentine.

And maybe he was perfectly ok with all of it.

Because she was the best friend he'd ever had.

They played the zombie game drinking beer. They played 21 BlackJack and Jill kept losing. After four rounds of it, she narrowed her eyes at him, "You cheating, Redfield?"

"Would I?" He asked, innocently.

He won again.

And Jill grabbed his hand and jerked him forward. He spilled on his face on the floor and she sat on his back. "CONFESS!"

Laughing, Chris answered, with his face in the carpet. "I cheated."

"I KNEW IT!" And she smacked his ass. "CHEATER!"

He loved her. How could you not love her? And he'd missed being her best friend like this. Dog laid on his back and pinned him down with her. Jill let out a hooting laugh.

"Oh, Red, you are so SCREWED now!"

She was right about that. Friends or not, he was probably going to love her forever.

The fourth of July, they went to the street fair in celebration of their nation's birthday. The whole team came out to watch fireworks and drink beer and enjoy all the food trucks that peddled their delicious treats. The smell of smoking meat and popcorn and funnel cakes peppered the air split with laughter and happiness.

The weather was surprisingly cool for how hot it had been all summer. A cool breeze filtered through the humidity and kept the pavement from wavering with the heat. Jill and Chris sat on the grass with Rebecca, Felicity, Dog, Maggie, and Barry Burton's oldest girl Moira. She was an adorable little thing with pig tails in a red, white, and blue dress.

Jill was teaching her how to do a cat's cradle with yarn around her fingers.

Felicity was showing Rebecca how to tie together an opponent's shoelaces properly. She said, "It keeps you from having to bind their legs. Works like a charm."

Maggie was petting Dog while she rubbed her ever expanding belly.

Chris sipped his beer and asked her, "You're never worry about having a baby married to a man who fights terrorists for a living?"

Maggie chuckled a little and tossed her pretty hair. Joseph was with Brad and Barry getting hotdogs. "Never. He's my heart. And we're having a family together. There's no way to know if that'll last but for now? It's all good. Honestly, Chris, any one of us could be dead tomorrow. What else do we have but today?"

It was a good answer.

Dog woofed and ran toward Captain Wesker as he crossed the grass. Jill gave Chris a long look and he rose.

He crossed the town square toward him. Wesker, even in the heaviest part of summer, wore black. He was in black from head to toe. And he wasn't even sweating. His glasses covered those pale eyes as he waited.

Wesker spoke first and surprised him, "First Chris, let me apologize for what I said about Jill before. That was crass. It was disrespectful and ill timed. I utilized poor judgement trying to motivate you and spoke out of turn. I've apologized to Jill directly for it as well."

Chris glanced back at Jill in surprise. She caught his eye and nodded, like she knew what they were talking about. Chris said, quietly, "She's my best friend. But I was out of line too, sir. Way out of line. I want to formally apologize for hitting you. And I'm willing to accept the suspension for as long as necessary."

Wesker patted his shoulder, calmly, "I think three weeks is long enough. You can return to duty on Monday. In the future Chris before it comes to that, just consider that there might be a good reason for a bad decision but it doesn't excuse the act itself."

"Yes, sir."

"Enjoy your holiday." Wesker turned to head back toward the courthouse.

Chris hesitated and finally said, "Sir?"

Wesker paused and glanced back at him.

"Sir…would you like to join us? I don't mean to step out of line again here but you never seem to be enjoying yourself at these things. The fireworks will be starting soon. Do you want to watch them with us?"

Wesker considered this and finally nodded. "Revelry with the team is a good idea, Chris. And in the spirit of keeping moral up, I believe you're right."

Rebecca said, from the ground, "Is Wesker coming over here to sit with us?"

Jill replied, "Don't piss yourself, Bec. Relax. I've spent a lot of time with him. He's a little uptight but he's friendly enough."

Felicity gave her wide eyes. "He's friendly!?"

Jill laughed a little, "Surprisingly. I think he even joked with me one day."

And now Maggie let out a loud guffaw, "Don't be silly. You know that didn't happen."

Wesker joined the team as they all settled around on their little grassy knoll to watch the fireworks. The display was beautiful. It was loud and bright and exciting. The sky above the clock tower lit up and exploded with color and beauty. The music planning was patriotic and fitting.

Wesker, Barry, and Joseph all lounged on the grass with Maggie and Felicity. Rebecca and Barry's girls sat on a blanket to one side. Brad and his girlfriend, shockingly, sat off to the other side. Chris, Jill, and Dog watched and walked a little around the square with a sprig of cotton candy.

Chris took a big bite of it making a sound like a dinosaur and made Jill laugh.

Across the square, Claire was flirting with Kevin Ryman.

Chris said, "Should I stop that?"

Jill shook her head, smiling. "No way. He's great."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It's not his fault that I wasn't ready to move on."

Chris glanced down at her and she held his gaze for a long moment. He thought about leaning down to kiss her right there in front of everyone. It lingered in his mouth like mouthwash. He actually touched her face and skimmed his thumb over her cheekbone.

Red, pink, and green exploded over her face as the fireworks went off. Jill glanced up at his face and smiled. She said, "You getting mooshy on me, Redfield?"

And Chris laughed a little. "That's a negative on the mooshy stuff, Valentine."

He dropped his hand and Jill turned his palm over and put a penny in it. He glanced at it and at her face. She was smiling at him and looked…well…she looked beautiful in the flashing colors. She said, "I noticed you carry that penny in your badge. Claire told me it was the one she found in the parking lot the day your parents were buried."

Chris said nothing now, watching her face.

She said, "You found the penny on the worst day of your life. And you kept it. Who does that?"

She covered his palm with hers and held that penny between them. "You're the guy who loves forever, Chris Redfield. Forever. And you never forget. You can't do anything but protect and remember those who matter. So maybe…maybe you take that penny I gave…and you remember me too. Whenever we're not together…you'll remember me anyway. I figured…maybe you'll keep my penny too."

Shit.

He wrapped their hands together and squeezed. Dog leaned against their legs and they both petted him absently without even realizing it. Chris said, "Jill Valentine…you big sap."

She laughed a little, wetly. And then she looped her arms around his waist and moved in.

He dropped his cheek to the top of her head and held her while the world exploded in color and light around them.

On the grass above them, Rebecca said softly, "She's kinda stupid for not loving him."

Felicity replied, "She loves him. And he loves her. But they're both too stupid to do anything about it."

Joseph, sitting beside his wife, said, "Maggie and I were friends all through school. I didn't see her for ten years. Then one day? I just opened my eyes. One day? They'll both open their eyes. Until then? You have to let them be blind."

Blind, Wesker thought, is what they all were.

But they'd see the truth soon enough.

It was, after all, Independence Day...and he was about to be free from the lie of what he'd become.

Jill dropped him off at his house after the fireworks ended. She watched Dog leap from the car and run out into the backyard to go potty. Chris turned his head in the passenger seat and met her eyes.

"You want to come in and hang out for awhile?"

Jill shrugged and parked the car. "Yup."

"Cool."

They made nachos and watched television and had too much to drink. She fell asleep in the spare room with Dog on the floor snoring.

He came awake at 2 a.m. again. He rolled to his side and she was looking at him. In the moonlight, her crystal blue eyes were silver.

He was naked, wrapped in sheets, with his bare feet sticking out the bottom of the tangle.

She stood beside the bed, looking down at him.

He lifted a hand, caught her wrist, and tugged.

She came down beside him on the bed with a bounce. He leaned up on one arm to look down into those haunting eyes. She asked, softly, "Would you remember me, Chris Redfield? If I was gone?"

The sad lonely girl who no one had ever really loved. She was so scared of being alone again. So scared that no one would miss her if she was gone. So scared that she would just…disappear.

And he answered, "I would never stop looking for you, Jill Valentine. Ever. You? This is where you are." And he signaled his chest and circled his finger.

Jill smiled, studying his face in the moonlight. That strong jaw, that dark skin, those heavy brows of his. His wasn't a face you forgot. It was a face you remembered, long after you should have let him go.

She whispered, "I'm just a plain faced girl that's the daughter of a criminal. Maybe there's nothing here worth holding on to."

And she was the only person in his life to let him in. She just did it. She just let him inside to see her, to know her, to love her. She just let him. And she'd given him a penny to remember her. Because he'd punched their boss and gave her a dog, and took the time to see, for the first time in her life, not the plain faced daughter of a criminal…but the accomplished, dedicated, and determined woman who would stand side by side with him one day and change the world.

And she loved him. She just loved him. It was the first time she knew, in her bones, that there was no Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield. Whatever else was true, they were connected now, they were connected…and she didn't want to know what life looked like without him beside her. He was her guy. And she was his girl. And the best friends forever joking? No joking. Lovers or not, they were best friends forever.

And she loved him.

And just this once? She wanted to love him.

Jill lifted a hand and cupped his face. Her other hand settled, gently, against Chris' chest and over his heart. He leaned in, she leaned in, and they kissed soft and smooth. Their foreheads brushed together.

Their eyes stayed open as he rolled, smoothly, atop her. She opened her legs and slid her feet down his calves. His arms braced beside her head. Her hand stayed on his chest and the other held his face.

She was in a little tank top and her panties. No g-string now. No. Just simple, white cotton, and plain. The plain faced girl, she'd called herself. She was never plain. Never. He slipped his hands under her tank top and slid it over her head.

He kissed one soft breast and the other. And he kissed her…right over her heart. His eyes lifted to her face again. And Chris intoned, low and with feeling, "I will always hold on to you, Jill Valentine. Always. And I won't let go."

She lifted her hips so he could slide her panties down her legs. His arms braced beside her head, her hands curled up his back to hold him, and he rubbed himself against the damp heat of her. She whispered, soft and desperately, "I won't let go either. Chris, I won't let go."

He slid into her, slow, achingly slow, and stole her breath.

Their eyes stayed locked. Her mouth opened silently on a gasp. His breath caught and his brow furrowed. Her eyes blurred and hooded but held. Held. Held.

His voice was low and gruff when he whispered, "You're the most beautiful woman in the world."

And she believed him. She believed him. The feeling of him inside of her expanded, spilled, and filled her from ears to feet to soul. She didn't just let him in her body; she let him in her heart. He took up a place inside of it and stayed, stayed, even as he slid in and out of her needy body.

Jill started panting, heavy, heavier. Her slick heat welcomed him, eagerly, as she did, completely. And they moved together musically now. His gruff sighs, her soft gasps, the rhythm of flesh and need. She lifted her face for his mouth and they kissed again, wet and long. It wasn't fucking. It was love.

It was wet, needy, gentle. It was love.

And punctuated by their held gazes.

Maybe it wasn't the kind of love that they could use to build a life together as man and wife. But it was the kind of love that stayed, long after the love songs ended and the passion fled and the body aged. It was love that made laughter and held on, held on, when all other hands would let go.

And, just this once, they made love in the moonlight and held on.

Jill arched against him and kept on holding onto his face and his gaze while she crested, shivered, and came around him…still holding on. Chris dropped his mouth to kiss her, spilled his tongue into her mouth, and the phone started ringing.

They left it…left it. And he pinned her hips to the bed, pumped his body almost quick and deep now into her, watch her bow and shudder…and spilled inside her pulsing heat. He actually gasped with it and her hands grabbed his biceps to hold on as she felt him tremble. He trembled…the big squish.

He dropped his forehead to hers and trembled…and the answering machine clicked on, whirring.

It was Barry Burton.

"Chris, dude, get in here. Now. Hurry. Bravo's chopper malfunctioned again. There was a call about a disturbance in the mountains. They thought they might have found the cannibals. The chopper set down…and we lost communications. We lost them. ANSWER YOUR PHONE."

Chris snatched up the receiver, breathing heavily. Jill was grabbing his back now in horror.

He ground out, "Barry! What the hell man?"

He listened. He held her eyes.

And he said, "Yeah. I know where she is. Yeah. I'll get her and we'll be right there. Cheese and rice. Yeah. On the way."

He hung up the phone.

She said, "Oh my god."

And they held eyes for a moment longer as the fear rolled between them. She whispered, softly, "Don't let go ok?"

Chris answered, softly, "Never."

They rolled apart to hurry now.

And go to face the worst night of their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! The next chapters will be action, action, and BETRAYAL! No more funny jokes and team dynamic. I'll lift a lighter for the fallen. And try to do them justice when I murder them. Awful awful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Spencer Mansion (finally) and that fateful July night. The truth is revealed. The Devil emerges. The betrayal begins. And the fight to destroy him rages. What will it cost? What will they lose? And how long can they fight before it consumes them?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go again. The Spencer Mansion begins. It's rocky. It's rough. It's coming along. I won't follow the game exactly. What fun is that!? Let's have some fun with it. And lift a lighter for our soon to be deceased buddies in arms. :(
> 
> Thank you for the encouragement. I've had some real help from readers lately with suggestions and thoughts. I LOVE that.
> 
> Keep it coming!
> 
> Slainte.

XI: Outbreak

:::::::::::::ELEVEN::::::::::::::

The drive felt like it took forever. It was like a thrum of fear and pain in the veins. How bad was it? How bad? How had they lost contact with…everyone? What did that mean?

They didn't even take a car. Jill got on the back of Chris' bike and they rode in together in their uniforms. They leapt off the bike in the underground garage and hurried for the team room. They'd lost Bravo. How? How was that possible?

The elevator from the garage pinged and started to climb upward.

Jill glanced over at Chris as they leaned against the wall together.

And she slid her hand over across the bar behind them…and grabbed his.

He slid their fingers together and squeezed.

She said, "They're ok right? They're fine. The chopper malfunctioned and they're all sitting around out there and smoking and laughing about it."

Chris said nothing.

She looked at his face. "Chris…they're ok."

He asked, quietly, "Did you lose anyone in Delta while you were in it?"

Jill shook her head no. And he nodded a little.

He said, softly, "This is what we trained for Jill. This is what it means to do what we do. It means we'll go out into those woods…in the dark…with whatever else is out there and we'll search for them. And we'll find them. And maybe they're ok. And maybe they're dead. But this is it."

He hit the emergency stop on the elevator and turned to her. She grabbed his vest in both hands and he took her face with its jaunty little beret. He held her face and said, "This is it. Everything before this? It was making sure we can handle something like this. I lost men in the service on missions. It's not easy. It's awful. I can't prepare you for it. And you'll feel it if they're gone. So breathe, hope for the best, but prepare for the worst. We may find the chopper down and the bodies burned."

Jill made a sound.

He kept holding her face. "We may find them alive and well. And we may not find them at all. Cannibals. Wolves. Bears. Prepare for it, Jill. Whatever is out there."

They held eyes for a moment, a long moment, and she finally said, "Thank you. Let's do this."

He moved to slap the emergency button again and she stepped away.

They waited and the doors pinged open.

Hurrying out, they came face to face with Barry and Joseph carrying gear toward the chopper. Brad was already situated and on his headset communicating with someone. Wesker came from the open doorway of the roof access carrying an assault bag.

He tossed it to Chris and they moved to load the chopper.

Wesker said over the roaring din of the blades of the chopper firing up, "Jill, remember your training. In a forested environment, visibility is limited and magnified by nightfall. Don't rely entirely on your gun, utilize your other skills."

Jill nodded and leaped onto the chopper. She settled next to Chris. Barry and Joseph settled beside Wesker. Wesker said, as the chopper rose into the tossing wind. "In the event of separation, regroup at the drop point. Brad?"

Brad's voice came over the headset, "Sir?"

"Remain in the clearing prepared for emergency evacuation. In the event of injured Bravo team members, we'll need to move quickly."

"Roger, sir."

The chopper rotated over the forest as Brad made for a landing spot.

Wesker advised them again, "Use of force is authorized. The primary objective remains to locate and assist Bravo Team."

They couldn't begin to know that they were leaving behind the world they knew…for a nightmare.

The chopper hovered and landed in a toss of grass and dirt. It kicked up in a funnel cloud around them as they leaped out one at a time. The humidity was less in the forest. The heat of summer remained though; a cloying and clinging thing that pressed on the skin with a wet touch. It ruffled clothes and hair with delicate fingers of a fetid and steamy breeze. The scent of rain hinted at a coming storm.

But it wasn't the only smell.

The summer breeze brought another scent with it. It brought the scent of death.

Death, Chris thought, had a specific odor. It was the choking stink of rotting meat and eggs. It was the stench of skunks and fart. It was the acrid cling of shit and bloated corpse left too long in the sun. And, once smelled, it was never forgotten.

Jill made a small sound

Wesker said, softly, "Follow the smell. Move in twos."

They moved through the trees; guns at the ready. The helicopter was close. The smell of leaking fuel accompanied the stench of rotting meat. Chris caught sight of the twisted metal at the same time the plumes of smoke reached the air around them. The helicopter wasn't just wrecked…it was derelict. It was destroyed. It looked like it had been mauled by stampeding herd of buffalo.

The doors were ripped and jagged, sharp and warped. The tail was wrapped around the front as if a kid had tied a shoelace. The helicopter had gone done and taken out four trees with it. The leaking fuel line smelled acrid and sharp as it dripped and smoked.

Joseph reached it first and ducked inside.

Over their headsets, Chris heard him gasp. They all heard it. They heard him curse.

And then they heard him wretch.

Jill ducked in after him.

Kevin Dooley had always been good at impersonations. Her favorite had been his zombie impersonation. He could have been an actor if he hadn't joined the police force. Instead? He was a corpse. Not just dead. He was slaughtered. And he wasn't impersonating it. He was half cocked over his pilot's seat, neck broken, eyes staring glassily at the ceiling above him.

Well…eye. EYE. Just one. He had only one eye left. The other? Mauled. Ripped away by a sharp slash of claw marks beneath his still clinging helmet. Whatever had mauled him hadn't even knocked his helmet off. His twisted neck was an oozing mess. It was ripped open, resembling a burst balloon that had splattered blood, bone, and flesh all around the floor and across the console before him like macabre confetti. Mauled…and had his throat ripped out.

No…CHEWED out.

Jill stood frozen, staring. Just staring. And then she moved toward him…and she grabbed his dog tags. They were splattered with blood and dangling around his neck. She grabbed them and jerked them off him…and put them in her cargo pocket. It was the least she could do for his daughters. Her eyes caught sight of the little dangling picture cube on his console. Twin girls…pretty and blonde. Deanna and Ruthie.

Oh god.

Jill's hand was shaking as she closed his one good eye and gave him peace.

Joseph grabbed her forearm and squeezed. She nodded, nodded, and they turned to leap off the twisted skeleton of the chopper. They would send the coroner to collect Kevin when they'd located the rest of the team. Her heart felt heavy and painful in her chest.

Chris was moving up toward the chopper as she stepped off.

She shook her head at him.

He held her gaze and nodded.

Wesker signaled and they separated into pairs to search outward from the chopper. She stayed with Joseph and Chris with Wesker. The moist air told the story of death. Because the smell? It hadn't been coming from Kevin. He didn't smell like rot.

He hadn't been dead long enough.

Something else was rotten in this forest. And it was waiting for them to find it.

Jill said, quietly, as they moved. "You still think we're in the right job?"

Joseph shook his head. He wore his lucky bandana. It was red and looped over his receding hairline. His long nose accented his thin face and told the story of his Native American heritage. He had similar ties as Chris did. Although Joseph's were Cherokee. Chris' face hinted at his ancestors, Joseph's was more direct. He had the dark eyes and black hair and bone structure of his people. He offered Jill a stick of gum and she took it, chewing softly.

He said, "I think Kevin got a raw deal back there. That's not cannibals, Jill. That's wolves or something. Keep your guard up ok?"

"You too. Let's circle out without losing visual on each other."

"Roger."

They separated a bit and Joseph paused and said, "If something happens to me, Jill, let Maggie know that there's a shoebox under the fourth slot of the floor in our bedroom, beneath the big dresser. It has about eight grand in it and my life insurance policy information."

Jill eyed him and she wanted to make a joke. But Kevin Dooley's face was lodged in her brain. "Alright. I will."

Joseph nodded. They started to move again and Jill paused, "Joseph?"

"Yeah?" He turned to look at her.

"If…If I go down…can you tell Chris…" And her she faltered. She faltered. Joseph eyed her a little. And finally smiled.

"He knows, Valentine. We all know. He knows you love his enormous cock."

And now she did laugh. She laughed. And it helped clear her head enough to focus on the mission. Joseph winked at her and moved further out in the trees.

There was a rustling amongst the leaves. Jill paused, listening. It rustled again. But it wasn't close to her. It wasn't anywhere close to her. It was, however, close to Joseph. She turned to look at him…and the source of the rotting stench leaped from the darkness…snarling.

Jill lifted her gun and started firing.

A hundred yards away, Chris and Wesker froze at the first echo of it.

And then they started running.

Jill shot the first dog that leaped. She blew it out of the air with a yelp and wet burst of blood. It hit a tree close to Joseph and went down twitching. He got his gun up and popped off two shots. But he was surrounded. Surrounded.

Jill shouted, loudly now, "NO!"

And it didn't matter. It didn't matter. He went down screaming. The first one got his face handsome face and started tearing into it like it was a juicy bone. The sound of crunching and ripping, the sounds of growling and wet gurgling…the echo of her gun firing…firing….firing….and clicking empty.

Empty.

….empty.

Jill dry fired into the mess of them as they devoured him. He was still screaming. No…no…he'd stopped screaming. He was down. Joseph. Joseph would never gossip again. Joseph would never do the robot while they put dollar bills in his underwear after a long training session. Joseph would never watch Forest and Chris go head to head to see who'd beat the sniper record and win big when Chris didn't just win; he beat the other man into the dirt. Joseph…who would never see his child born and hold it…and smell it…and love it.

Jill lowered her empty gun as the head of one of those dogs turned, dribbling pieces of Joseph from its ruined jaws. Ruined…jaws. It was ripped open in places. Patches of rotting flesh were sliding around on exposed muscle and bone and bleeding tissue. She could see teeth through its flayed open face. One eye lolled on its snout which was little more than exposed bone and chunks of meat.

Jill was frozen. Chris had said, "Prepare for the worse."

He couldn't mean this. This wasn't natural. It wasn't possible.

It was something rotting and rotten and raw. It was dead.

It was undead.

And it was looking at her.

Jill lifted her empty gun and backed up. She backed up as it turned and snarled, growled, and ran. Oh GOD. She tripped on a log and went down on her butt. She made a sound of horror and fear. And the rotting dog leaped for her throat in a stinking arch.

She smelled its fetid breath, felt the wet heat of it on her face and the BOOM of gunfire split the quiet night, and knew she was going to die like Joseph had died…eaten.

It was blasted out of the air an inch from her face. Sticky blood plopped on her cheek as it was tossed free and rolled over the forest floor. She looked over to find him running toward her.

His face, she thought, his face was so afraid. Her guy. Scared to death for her.

She loved him.

And she was desperately afraid she was in shock.

Chris grabbed her hand and launched her to her feet. She staggered and he yelled at her, scaring her. "MOVE JILL! NOW!"

Jill nodded, nodded, and they started running.

The pack gave chase, snarling and howling. Jill panicked, panicked and stumbled. Chris kept hold of her hand and pulled her with him. They ran toward the evac point, racing against the sound of thunder and paws in leaves.

There was panting, snapping jaws, and snarling. So close. Too close. She stumbled again and Chris threw her in front of him so hard it jarred her free from the pit of horror she was trying to wallow in. He yelled, "Run, Jill! RUN!"

And so Jill ran. Because he sounded so strong. And she was so afraid. She ran.

The sound of helicopter blades filled the air. They were close. They were gonna make it….they were -

The wind whipped around her face. It tossed Chris' hair.

And Chris shouted, "No! You're fucking KIDDING me! BRAD! YOU FUCKING COWARD!"

And the chopper was in the air above them, racing away. Away. Their pilot was abandoning them. They were being…left behind to die.

Chris' roar of denial was so loud. It stole her breath with the power of it. It scared her to death. To death. They'd be dead soon. Brad had effectively put a gun to their heads and blasted their brains all over the ground with Joseph.

"COME BACK! YOU STUPID SON OF A BITCH!"

Jill tried to fall to her knees in the clearing. Chris forced her to keep running. The air shifted, it split. She shouted, screamed, and the dog leaped for him.

He pushed her so hard she nearly went down. He said, "RUN! Do you hear me!? DON'T LOOK BACK JILL AND KEEP RUNNING!"

She was going to watch his beautiful face ripped away by those jaws because he stopped. He just stopped running. The fucking hero…the fucking idiot.

"NO!"

Chris turned, spun back, and threw up his arms to stop it. To give her a chance to live. To sacrifice himself to buy her time. To die bleeding and screaming like Joseph had. Like Kevin had. Like they all would.

And her whole world shivered with it. She didn't even realize she'd dropped her combat knife into her free hand and was shifting back toward him. Like she'd leap in front of him and use it to protect him.

A gun echoed. And the dog was blasted from the air like his brethren had been with yelp of death. It spun off into the trees and skidded across the ground in a kick of dust and leaves. And Wesker's voice commanded, sharp and close, "Chris! This way!"

They followed their Captain like they never had before. They followed him now in loyalty like nothing else in the world. Because he'd been there, in the knick of time, to save their lives.

Barry was with him. Brad was gone.

There were dogs chasing them everywhere now. Hundreds of them it seemed. Too many. The forest too big. The night too long. The world too dark.

There was no hope.

Until…

"GET TO THAT MANSION!"

Wesker shouting now. Wesker shooting. Barry shooting. Chris shooting.

They ran toward the shadow of it in the darkness. It was big and bright. It was big and dull. It looked over run. It looked like the Adam's Family was going to come out to greet them. It was arches and white washed marble. It was gothic revival. It didn't matter if the entire cast of Maniac Mansion came rushing out to kill them…they were going in.

Jill hit the doors first and burst inside. She stumbled and slid. Her knees hit the floor and she spun out across the floor on her butt. The smooth marble floor was slick and reflective, it was beautiful. It was pristine. The mansion was pristine. Only a little dust seemed to linger in places when one stopped to blink and take it all in.

Barry came through next with Wesker and Chris taking up the rear. They slammed the doors and threw the locks on it. The sound of dogs hitting the heavy wood was loud and filled the silence around them.

Jill was still staring at the entry hall where she sat on her butt, panting.

Arches, columns, beautiful buttresses and hand sculpted wood that made for a second story. A staircase lay wide and waiting in the center of the room with a beautiful spill of red, red, red carpet that went up it and split off into dual stairways to the second floor balcony. The main staircase was split on either side with descents to the below ground area.

There were doors, doors, doors and silence. Silence. Only the sound of a ticking clock somewhere now and the heavy, rasping, awful symphony of their desperate breathing.

Chris put a hand down to her and Jill took it, rising.

Wesker turned toward them, eyes hidden by his sunglasses. His voice seemed so loud in the quiet, "We seem to be safe for now. We can assume Brad won't be coming back for us."

Barry cursed, softly, "Fucking pussy."

Jill lifted her gun and was surprised to find she'd kept it in her hand. She dropped the empty clip from it and put a fresh one in. Chris was moving around the hall, inspecting it.

Wesker said, "We need to secure this area. The immediate priority is making sure we neutralize any threats and await evacuation."

Jill replied, "Is anyone coming for us?"

"The protocol in place is for us to check in. Logically, Brad will return to the RPD and get back up. But…we can't count on that." Wesker shifted to look around the mansion himself although he seemed oddly unruffled by where they were. He didn't seem curious or awed like the rest of the team. Of course, he was seldom a man that was awed by anything. "Protocol insists that back up will come to find us if we don't check by morning."

Barry intoned, "Morning?! Are you kidding?"

Wesker sighed a little, "That's the protocol. If we secure this mansion, we'll be able to stay here until morning. It's entirely possible the rest of Bravo team is here as well. We found it. It's likely Bravo found it after they went down. Did anyone find signs of any more members near the wreckage?"

Jill shook her head no. Chris said, "Nothing."

Barry added, "Where's Joseph?"

Jill shook her head again, throat closing.

Chris answered him, "The pack got him. He was gone. They were almost on Jill when I got there."

Barry cursed again and turned away to pace.

Wesker asked, "Are you alright, Jill?"

Jill nodded, holding her gun tightly, "I'm fine. They didn't get me. I'm fine."

Her voice sounded hollow in her ears. She sounded hollow. Her fingers were cold. She glanced at her hands. And she knew, she knew she was shocky. She glanced at herself in a pretty ornate mirror on the wall beside her. Pale, wide eyed, and panting. But her. She was alright…there was blood on her cheek.

But she was alright.

They secured the immediate area to be sure it was safe.

Wesker's voice made her feel a little more herself as he gave them orders. He sounded so calm. He was so controlled. She tried to absorb some of that control into herself. And then they heard a gun shot from somewhere in the mansion.

They all froze, watching each other.

Wesker commanded, "Chris, Jill…go locate the source of the shot. Barry and I will wait here and secure the second floor balcony. Report back immediately."

They both nodded and moved through the far double doors that waited. They nodded, they shifted, they counted off and shoved open doors, clearing as they moved. But there was no threat on the other side…it was just a thirty foot dining room table and a fireplace. Sconces lined the dining room in antique metal. Candelabra lined the table with glittering, lit, wavering lit tips. Someone had been here recently. They'd dined and left a fire. A fire. A fire in summer. It crackled and wavered shadows around the dim room.

There was a beautiful crest on the wall above the fireplace and an iron shield with crossing swords on it. The ornate, hand polished grandfather clock to one side ticked loudly. The second floor balcony was easily observed from the large, open room as they moved. There was a small secretariat sitting against the wall beside them with an antique type writer on it.

The room was so quiet. Empty. Statues waited on the second floor. One, Grecian in design, had her arms lifted to the heavens. A big gem of some kind glittered in her hands.

Chris lifted a brow at her. She shrugged.

He moved toward the type writer to look at it closer. He pressed the keys on it with one finger, machine gun style. It rattled, rattled, rattled and the paper that rolled out the top was yellowed with age. The ink ribbon appeared to still be fresh though because it was making perfect black letters. Jill leaned over to read what he'd typed. It said: Chris/Jill – Dining Room.

She lifted a brow at him. He hit the return key and added: Creepy Fucking Mansion – First Floor.

Jill met his eyes. The room flickered a little with firelight. She said, softly, "You stopped."

He held that look. "What?"

"Don't what me like you don't know what I mean. You shoved me and you stopped. You just stopped running."

Chris kept his face blank. "Now's not the time, Jill."

He started passed her and she grabbed his arm. He looked down at her.

She said, "I couldn't save Joseph. I tried. And I froze. I failed him."

Chris shifted and grabbed her face with one hand. It startled her because it wasn't gentle. It stole her breath and worked. It shook her out of herself.

"Now's not when you do this, Jill. Look at me."

She turned her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. He commanded her now, low and strong, "Now's not the time to feel it. Not yet. Later? Yeah. You feel it later. Now you keep going. Let's try to find the others. Let's try to get the hell out of here alive. And then we can grieve him. But NOT NOW. Ok?"

Jill nodded, wide eyed and hard. "Ok. Ok. You're right."

He started to let go of her face and she gripped his vest with one hand and jerked him toward her. She smacked his face and surprised the hell out of him.

"You tried to play hero out there. You tried to Obi Wan Kenobi and sacrifice yourself." He didn't deny it. He didn't admit it either. He just held her gaze. She added, "Don't do it again. You stop, I stop. You fight, I fight. That's the deal, Redfield. Take it or leave it."

And now he smiled. He smiled at her. And said, "Deal. No letting go right?"

"No letting go. Let's find the other's and get the fuck out of here."

"Cheese and rice, Valentine, don't be so mean next time."

Jill laughed a little softly as they moved to the far door and readied themselves to open it and move into the next area. They nodded off and cleared high and low into the small, narrow, oppressive hallway beyond. Here it was dusty. Here it was musty. And there was the coppery stench of blood. The hallway was long and ran both ways with dark carpet and peeling wallpaper.

They heard the sound of gasping and moved together down the left end of the hallway.

The hall curved sharply ninety degrees and showed two arm chairs and a small table waiting. On the floor, Kenneth Sullivan was gasping, flopping, and dying. Dying. Because there was a man on top of him eating his face. His…FACE.

The man's head turned, dripping blood and chunks of skin from between his teeth. His skin was split and cracked like dried paper mache. It flaked and caked and split in places to show muscle beneath. Like the dogs in the forest, the man was rotting where he knelt…eating the man on the floor beneath him.

Chris backed up, he had a fucking gun in his hands and he just…backed up.

Jill didn't. She rotated to the side and drove a kick into the rotting thing as it rose to its feet to turn toward them. It stumbled and fell into the chairs behind it.

And Chris remembered to breathe.

He shot it in the chest.

It smashed into the wall and slid down it, twitching.

But it didn't really bleed.

And it didn't really stop.

It moaned. It moaned and groaned and gnashed its teeth. The eyes were filmed over. Dead fish eyes. Dead.

No. Not dead. What was the word? UNDEAD.

Jill whispered, "…zombie."

And that was it. THAT was the word.

Chris and Jil had played the game recently hadn't they? The game with the zombies. There was only one way to kill zombies. Chris' voice was low and hoarse. He said, "Shoot them in the fucking head."

And he shot the zombie in its filmed over left eye.

It went down…and stayed down.

Jill dropped to her knees to check on Kenneth.

He was making wet gurgles and jerking. His face was awash in blood. His throat, his cheek and nose…were gone. Gone. The thing had bitten out his jugular. Jill made a little sound of horror and Kenneth grabbed her hand, went stiff, and gusted out his final breath.

The silence was loud around them.

She kept on holding his hand. She finally reached up and jerked off his dog tags. And she put them in her cargo pocket.

Chris stood guard, watching both ends of the hallway while she rose. She said, "Let's go report in."

Chris gestured with his head, "Take his weapon, Jill. Get his spare ammo."

She held that blue gaze. Chris added, softly, "He doesn't need it anymore, Jill. But we might. Please."

And she nodded and knelt to get his gun and his ammunition.

They back tracked, sticking together like glue. She said, softly as they crossed the dining room, "I don't want to die like that. Not like that."

Chris nodded, "Me either. Ever Put me down ok?"

"Same. Same. And I promise."

"Me too."

They opened the door to the foyer again and cleared. The room was empty.

Jill called, "Captain Wesker? Barry?"

They checked the area and found nothing. The foyer was just echoing and empty. They held gazes. Finally, Chris said, "It's possible they went to check out other shots somewhere. Or they split up to pursue multiple avenues. Either way, we have orders to follow. We need to secure this mansion."

She nodded. And she hated it. Hated it hard. But it had to be said, "We should split up."

Chris was quiet for a long moment. "We should. Head, Jill. Always the head. And this foyer is our rendezvous point ok?"

There was another one of those typewriters sitting on a secretariat by the front entry doors. Chris moved toward it. He glanced at his watch and at Jill.

"So…maybe we do this too." He typed keys and the paper rolled up. It read: Chris – 2242 – Foyer.

Jill laughed a little. "You might be fucking brilliant, Chris Redfield. This is how we track each other."

"Exactly. It's how we know we're ok. You find one of these things, you type on it. You leave me a message so I know you're alright."

Jill typed her name, the time, and the location. She grinned. "We meet back here in an hour. One way or another. Deal?"

"Deal."

They separated. Chris went back toward the dining room. Jill turned to the other side of the foyer.

She stopped. She turned back. And she said, "Hey Chris!"

He paused and turned to look at her.

She wanted to say so many things. She wanted to say I love you. She wanted to say I'll miss you. She wanted to say Hold me and keep me safe.

Instead?

She said, "…take care ok?"

And he winked at her. "Ditto, kiddo."

He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and hold on to her. He wanted to grab her and find a closet and hide there. He wanted to wait in the foyer for daylight. He wanted to turn back the clock and keep her. Keep her.

Because he was all muscle. He was all muscle and skill and dedication.

And fear.

He was all fear. Fear in this place filled with zombies. Fear in this place surrounded by rotting dogs. Fear.

And he was afraid it would cripple him and defeat him and he wouldn't be there to save her if she needed him. He didn't know what he'd do if he found her dead on the floor missing her face.

But it was his job. THIS? It was his job. So, he did it. He did it. And wanted to, for the first time in his life, abandon his fucking job and run away. A humbling moment for a hero. Hero indeed. He was a coward at the core. And that's the reason he didn't turn back to her and wait. He might die.

But he wouldn't die a fucking coward.

He opened the doors and went through them. The sound of them closing was loud and echoing. Jill lifted her hand to her chest and rubbed. Her heart hurt.

But this is what she was trained to do. This was the job. The job said she was on her own.

On her own.

In a mansion full of zombies.

She put her hand on the doorknob of the first door on her right. She braced and breathed.

And she opened the door with a creak of rusty hinges, a squeak, and a tremor of fear that shot down her back like lighting.

Whatever else was true…there was no escape.

They had burst through those doors and officially entered the world of survival horror.

The only thing they could do now…was to play the game and get out alive.

They just had to make it until dawn.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we're in the Mansion. The mansion is HUGE. It's endless. I could spend a thousand pages writing it. But I won't. I'll probably touch on some puzzles and leave others alone. I'll probably have some doors getting kicked in when they should be opened with a key.
> 
> I'll probably have the freaking MASTER OF UNLOCKING, pick her way through when she can.
> 
> Who's going to end up in the cage? Where is Wesker? Where is Barry!?
> 
> Why doesn't everyone beat the SHIT out of Brad!?
> 
> Let's find out!
> 
> Keep it coming!
> 
> Slainte.

XII: Captain Wesker…Where's Chris?

:::::::::::::TWELVE:::::::::::::

Chris eased his way back to Kenneth's body. He stood there for a long moment looking at what was left of his fallen friend. The surreal nature of his situation pulsed with each beat of his heart. This is what happened when you fought, he thought wildly, you fought and you died. Would he die here, in this house of horrors? Would he die here with his face eaten?

Kenneth twitched.

Chris jumped a little in surprise. Death throws?

Kenneth twitched again.

Chris knelt to put his hand on his neck and feel for a pulse. "Ken? You ok? Hold on, alright? Let me just…"

Kenneth twitched…and Kenneth rose. He sat up. He turned his head and they were face to face now. Chris' blue eyes…and Kenneth's white ones. White, filmy, dead.

Undead.

"No."

Kenneth dove for his face.

He spilled backward on the floor and Kenneth was on top of him. He snapped his jaws, he dribbled spit all over his face, he gnashed his teeth and grabbed his uniform to pull him closer. It was, without a doubt, the worst hug between two men…one undead…that had ever occurred.

Terrified, shoving and trying to scramble away, Chris Redfield –later to become the great legend of the bioterrorism field - didn't throw a haymaker at his former comrade. He didn't rise and break his neck. He didn't do anything but panic and shove those lunging shoulders and scoot backward on his ass away from him while making something, sound wise, that might have been a squeak.

Potentially.

His back hit the wall, his boots shifted beneath the groin of his dead friend, and he shoved. It wasn't perfect but it worked. The body of Kenneth was kicked clear of him. It went over onto the floor beside him.

Chris staggered, scrambled on all fours like a dog, and got to his feet gasping for air. He spun back and Kenneth was crawling along the floor toward him. Chris raised his sidearm…and it trembled. His aim trembled. His PERFECT AIM shook in his stupid hands. Baby, his mind said, COWARD. DO IT.

"I'm sorry." His voice broke like a fifteen year old boy in the throws of puberty. And he shot his old friend in the snarling face.

The BOOM was so loud. It hurt his ears in the narrow hallway.

He stood there with smoke curling out of the end of his pistol and trembled.

Big fucking hero, he thought, big fucking joke.

Chris kept his gun in one hand and stepped over the body of his friend. He said a silent prayer to the ancestors and to the lord and crossed himself. It couldn't hurt. It couldn't hurt right?

He opened the door at the end of the hallway and stepped into another. This hallway had started life as an armory or something. It was lined with spears. Ornate spears jutted up toward the ceiling in silver and gold. They sparkled in the flickering firelight of the lit sconces along the walls.

He moved slowly down the hallway, caught a glimpse of himself in a big gold mirror standing against one ugly beige wall, and saw a kid. A kid with wide eyes and a pale pallor beneath his golden tan. A kid with some dried blood on his chin and vest. A kid with no fucking clue what he was doing.

There was a garbled moan close to him. He turned and something in a butler's uniform lunged at his face. He didn't think. He didn't do anything but stumble back, grab one of those spears jutting up beside him, and jerk it free from the ground. The zombie moaned and snapped and Chris drove the pointy end of the spear right into its mouth.

There was a pop and squelch. There was a gurgle. And Chris pinned the thing to the wall with the spear. It thrummed and slumped, staring dead eyed at him.

"…fucking shit on toast."

A Redfield family special. Shit on toast.

And, because he was alone with no one to judge him, he muttered, "Shit, piss, turd, sloppy ass cunt of a whore. Cock knocker. Wet fart, asshat parade."

There. He let the fear out and felt a little better.

Supposedly.

He ducked under the spear and moved further down the hallway. A set of fat baby cherub sculptures were shooting their little cupid arrows at the ceiling on either side of the hallway. The whole thing felt…unfinished. There was a definite failure of the designer to finish this hallway. Paintings leaned against walls, sculptures just sat in odd places, spears were lying on the floor and in piles. Apparently, a zombie outbreak impacted worker's abilities to finish interior design.

One the cherubs looked like it had fired an arrow into the broken torso of the statue adjacent to it. The statue had died a sad, painful death. It was missing its head and its arm and legs. It was a mess. It had that arrow sticking out of its chest like a dart.

Chris pulled the arrow free. It made a click sound and the tip fell off and landed on the floor. Curious, he knelt to pick up the arrowhead. He palmed the heavy jade in his hand and put it in his cargo pack. Why? It seemed to fit something besides the arrow shaft it had fallen from.

He moved down the hallway again and found two doors mirroring each other in the little alcove there. Curious, he tried the first and found it locked. The second was locked as well but he could unlock that one. So, he did and he cleared out the door onto the balcony that over looked the dining room.

A zombie was waiting for him, happily shambling around and moaning. Chris shot it between the eyes and watched it stumble, tumble over the hand carved railing and thunderously fall onto the table below, and go still there. It spilled congealed blood like goop from the hole in its forehead. It remained there like the world's worst offering of food.

Chris said, quietly, "I'd skip that fucking dinner party."

He heard a shot from somewhere behind him in the hallway he'd left behind. He jumped. And he wondered if he'd ever stop jumping.

Damn this god forsaken place.

He turned back and back tracked down the hallway. He listened and there was another gunshot. Jill? Barry? Wesker? Who the hell knew in this place. He stopped at a door and…he smelled it. As a boy, he'd played in the woods plenty. His parents cabin was the perfect place for a curious little boy to find bugs and rodents and snakes.

Snake.

You never forgot the smell of snake. It was musty and murky and dirty. His nose twitched with it. And his hand turned the knob in front of him. The door was slightly broken and locked.

There was a gasp from the other side of it.

Chris called through it, "Who's there? Identify yourself!"

And a tiny voice came back, "Chris? Chris, is that you? It's me! It's Rebecca! Hurry!"

Chris leaned back, reared up, and put his boot against the crumbling door. It flew open under the assault and smacked the far wall. He cleared as he came in but found no danger. There were…cobwebs. Thick, thick, thick cobwebs everywhere as far as the eye could see and the carpet literally plumed up dirt and dust as he moved.

Rebecca was crouched on the floor holding on to something.

She was dirty, smeared with old blood. She smelled vaguely like oil and gasoline. And she didn't look so young anymore. She didn't look innocent. There was a hardness to her, a strength, that said she'd survived while her team had run and scattered and maybe died.

She looked…tough.

Rebecca encouraged him from the ground, "Chris! Hurry, come here! Please."

He did, quickly. He knelt and there was Richard Aiken in her arms. He was a mess. He was bloody and gasping and missing pieces of his uniform. His face was covered in wounds that wept and seeped blood and fluids onto his torn skin. His left arm was destroyed. It was ripped up and gushing. Rebecca was binding it as best as she could with the few things in her medic kit.

She lifted her eyes to him.

"Oh Chris. Oh god. It's bad. It looks like a snake bite. How is that possible? The diameter of the fangs is as big as a man's fist! How is that possible?"

Chris held her gaze for a long moment. "What is happening here, Rebecca?"

She shook her head. Richard was breathing hard and watching them. He finally gasped out, "Demons, Chris. Demons. Chris, get out of here. Go. Hurry. Run. The snake…the SNAKE…it's horrible. It's horrible. It's here now. It will kill us all. Please…get out."

He was slightly delirious from the poison coursing in his body.

Rebecca leaned him against the far wall and covered him with an emergency blanket.

"We don't have much time here, Chris. He won't survive another hour without something to inhibit the spread of the venom. Down stairs, in the short hallway I was in when I arrived, I found a medical supply room. It's full of things. I loaded up with what I could but I didn't know I'd need to make an antivenom. I need to get back there."

She rose and Chris rose with her. She eyed him a little.

"Come with me," She turned to the door, "I have so much to tell you. So much. It's worse than you think, Chris. It's really bad. And it's not just zombies."

They moved out into the hallway. She was quick on her feet. He followed her, watching her face.

And she started talking. She started telling him a fairytale. No…a nightmare. She told about finding the dead in the woods. She told about separating from her team. The attack of the dogs which she called Cerebrus, the run through the woods to the train. The train was over run with the dead. The train was filled with infected. The train had the survivor of the ambush in the woods.

She didn't call him by name.

She just said…he. She was protecting the man who'd helped her it seemed.

She talked about Edward Dewey dying. She told about the train derailing and landing them in a horrible place. Horrible.

She lifted her eyes to his face. "It was a mirror of this place in one hand. It was…a facility. A training facility."

Chris covered her as she opened the door to a small room and started grabbing glass bottles from the walls. She was mixing and talking, mixing and talking. "A training facility for what?"

And now she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a diary. It was clearly hers. She'd filled the pages full of what she'd seen. She gestured at the small cot in the corner. "You better read that. And you better sit down. This will take me a minute to concoct an antivenom."

Chris sat down on the cot and opened the little book.

But he would never be prepared for what was inside of it.

The nightmare was about to get worse then he could have ever begun to imagine.

….

Jill grabbed the shotgun off the wall in the small study where she stood. She'd found a variety of weird shit in her exploration. She'd found plenty of those stupid zombies. She'd found a room filled with papers and cluttered mess. A quick toss of the room had told her that something bad had been going down in this mansion.

The papers kept referencing a lab.

Where was the lab?

What was in the lab?

It kept mentioning. Lisa. Lisa Trevor. Who was Lisa? Did she live in the house?

The questions kept building and there were no sure answers.

Now she stood in a study surrounded by books and a desk. The desk had a dead guy sitting at it. He didn't die a zombie. He'd shot himself in the face. It was horrid but had to be better than dying eaten alive.

There was a shotgun hanging on a couple of hooks above the chair where he sat. She picked it up, heard the hooks click up and lock, and checked it. It was fully loaded, which was totally awesome as she was out of rounds for her Beretta. It was a single barreled Ithaca pump action. It was a good gun. Why was it just dangling there?

She glanced around to see if removing it had activated some kind of trap but the room was quiet around her. The low lighting of a lamp revealed useless volumes of books on shelves. It showed a diary of the dead man that catalogued his spiral into madness and finally his death.

The last entry said he had started to really turn into one of them before he'd swallowed a bullet and ended his misery.

It mentioned a coworker and the dogs they'd seen. The experiments were going awry. Things were falling apart. People were missing. It was hot in the room. He was bitten by Bob at the kennels. Not a dog…BOB. BOB had bitten his hand. Why!? And then it got worse. He started to imagine eating faces and flesh. He was HOT. He was BURNING. He was HUNGRY.

HUNGRY.

The last entry in the diary said: 4/ itchy…tasty.

That's it.

Gibberish.

But what it looked like to make a rapid descent into being undead.

He'd killed himself afterward. Or maybe someone else had ended him. His gun was missing after all. But he'd been dispatched with a clean shot to the eye. Wesker?

Barry?

Hard to say.

Jill took the diary and poked it in her pack. She opened the door to leave the study and stepped into a little square vestibule. It was beautiful. It was marble and streaked with obsidian along the glistening walls. She took a step into the room and the ceiling clunked.

It jerked.

Her eyes turned up, slowly, horror movie slow…and the ceiling shook dust down on her.

And she figured out too late what taking the shotgun had done.

A trap after all.

A trap after all.

Oh…GOD.

She turned to go back and the door was locked. She ran to the far door and it was locked. The ceiling shuddered and started coming down. It was a horrible moment. Horrible. She'd, literally, killed herself here. She had a shotgun and no way out.

She kicked the far door, making a small mewling sound in her throat. She kicked it again. It wouldn't open. It shivered on the hinges.

Where was fucking Chris when she needed him to kick down doors?

She tried shouting, "CHRIS! ARE YOU OUT THERE! CHRIS! HELP ME! OH GOD!"

She raised the shotgun to blast the door and a voice answered. Not Chris. But good enough.

"JILL! GET BACK!"

The ceiling was inches above her head now. She ducked as it came toward her and promised to turn her to pizza on the floor.

"BARRY! HURRRRRY!"

The door rustled and opened, hitting the far wall. The ceiling dropped below the frame of it and started crushing toward the floor. Jill grabbed the outstretched hand and Barry jerked her free through the two foot opening that was left. She slid across the floor, hit the wall beyond, and heard the ceiling hit the floor where she'd been with a rustle, a burst, and a CRUNCH of compression.

She got to her feet. Barry was watching her face.

She said, "Thank you. JESUS. I'm glad you were there."

"Shit, me too. You're ok?"

"I'm good. Great."

"You were almost a Jill sandwich."

They both laughed mirthlessly. Jill rubbed his big arm. She replied, "If I'm gonna be in a sandwich it better be Brad Pitt on one side and Tom Cruise on the other."

And they both laughed again.

She studied his face. He didn't look good. He looked pale beneath his big red beard. And his eyes kept darting around. What had he seen? Barry didn't spook easily. He was spooked as hell now.

"You ok, Barry? You look nervous as hell."

Barry laughed a little and pulled a slim black case from his back pocket. "I'm fine. Really. If a guy can be fine in a mansion full of zombies."

"Right? Good point."

"Here." He set the case in her palm. "I found this in one of those rooms. It's no use to me. But I just bet it is for you."

She opened it up and found a beautiful lock picking set. She said, with delightful, "Barry – this is the Rolls Royce of lock picking kits. This is like Christmas and my birthday and sex with Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise combined! You are a god amongst men!"

Barry chuckled and patted her shoulder. "That's what my wife is always yelling too."

Jill snickered. And his face again. It looked so scared. What was in his mind's eye right now?

He seemed like he wanted to say something to her. She waited, watching that face. He glanced left and right and left and right and finally smiled. "You find Chris?"

"I did. He's on the other side of this huge bitch somewhere. You find anyone else?"

Barry licked his lips and glanced around. He opened his mouth…hesitated…and shook his head. He patted her arm again. "I'm gonna keep looking. You…be careful ok?"

"Barry…what the hell…you want to split up again?"

What was the deal with him?

He shook his head at her. He glanced down the hallway. "Wesker is around here somewhere. I know that. I haven't found anyone else. You find anything useful information wise?"

"Nothing so far. Just some gibberish about a lab. You find a lab?"

Barry shook his head at her. "Nope. No lab. Just some empty rooms. Nothing interesting."

Jill waited, brows lifted into her hat. "You ok, Barry? You seem panicky or something. You sure you want to split up again?"

"Yep. Better to cover more area." Barry backed down the hallway away from her.

She eyed him with mass confusion. He wasn't normally this squirrelly. He was acting like Brad. Like a chicken. It was weird.

"Chris and I are supposed to meet in the foyer in ten minutes. Do you want to come with me?"

"No. Better not to stay together. Bad idea to do that, Jill. We need to clear this mansion and make it safe right? I'll meet you there for the second check in time. Another hour?"

"…um…sure?"

"Great. See ya." He turned through a door and disappeared.

Jill lingered, blinking.

What a weirdo. Chris had said he was unflappable in the service. Admittedly, this was fucking clown shoes…but why was he freaking out so bad? There was something wrong with this picture besides undead and conspiracies and labs in weird mansions in the middle of the forest.

Jill moved toward the long hallway to make her way to the foyer.

She arrived, typed her name and the time on the type writer, and waited.

Twenty minutes after check in time, she knew he wasn't coming. And her heart fluttered in her chest with fear. She added a tiny message on the type writer for him…just in case.

Garden – landing – staircase.

She was telling him where she was going.

She hurried to the door at the landing and opened it with a rusty peel of sound. It spilled her out into the waiting heat. She could feel the heavy press of humidity here. It made you feel wet just walking in it.

She crossed over the broken cobblestone walk beneath her feet toward the graveyard that waited. The headstones were all in Greek…literally. She couldn't read them. They were everywhere and some were broken and falling over. The wrought iron fence surrounding the dirty little cemetery was all that stood between her and the night beyond. It wasn't safe to stay out here for too long. Not with those damn dogs running around.

She hurried to the far side of the cemetery and found a large stone mausoleum. It was built into the side of the graveyard and had a fat, happy cherub carved on it. She tilted her head, studying the stone work.

The cupid had a happy face that looked almost insane. She shuddered and lifted her eyes to the missing arrowhead on his bow. She touched the impression of it and pushed.

Nothing.

She pushed the baby.

Nothing.

Jill glanced around and said, "Booga Boo. Open sesame."

Nothing.

She poked the fat baby in the belly. Nope.

She tried again, "….Eeny meeny miney mo!"

No such luck.

Maybe it didn't want a password. She had a feeling she wasn't getting into that mausoleum without that missing arrowhead. She tried one more time for good measure, "Cheese and rice!"

And, naturally, got the shit scared out of her for it.

"Them's my words, Valentine."

Jill leapt two feet in the air and spun around. He saw the shotgun come up, caught it in his hand, and jerked it from her. She dropped her knife into her hand before she realized it was Chris.

He lifted the gun in one hand and his other to show it empty.

"Sorry, sorry…don't kill me."

Jill eased her knife back in the holster…but she smacked his chest for scaring her to death. "Asshat!"

"I also answer to Chris."

"You butthole. What the fuck are you doing sneaking up on me?"

"I wasn't aware I was sneaking. I followed your note though. I generally don't STOMP around in dangerous locations though. Although I guess I can start shouting next time and alert the world to my presence so you don't tinkle in your panties, if you want."

UGH. His humor. She hated it.

He flashed a grin.

Her mouth twitched.

He chuckled.

And she smiled.

Damn him.

He said, "You ok?"

"I'm fine. I found Barry. He was…weird. But ok. What about you?"

Chris shifted and sighed. "So, I found Rebecca and Richard. Richard was bitten by something pretty bad. It was a huge snake, he says. Rebecca is with him upstairs treating him with antivenom. But it doesn't look good."

Jill sighed, watching his face. "That's not all."

"Not even close. Rebecca found out a lot of things Jill. She's been running around since Bravo went missing yesterday. They're making things..."

"Things?"

Chris shifted, "Weapons. Umbrella? They're making weapons. Bio-organic weapons. BOWS. They're creating monsters. Rebecca found their training facility and discovered Marcus, one of the founders, went nutso. He went insane. He was working with Spencer, the guy who owned this fucking mansion, to make weapons of the military at first. And then for personal use? It's sketchy. Spencer had him killed. He didn't die...or he did and came back. And caused the outbreak here. But there was rivalry between two of the researchers. The names weren't anything more than first names…William and Albert. We don't know much else. But this mansion? I think it's got the answers."

Jill held his gaze now. "Holy fuck. Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack, sweetcheeks. It ain't good. What's happening here is so much bigger than zombies."

Jill and Chris held eyes. His hand shifted and moved. They touched fingertips. It was brief and over quickly. It resonated anyway.

He intoned, softly, "You're really ok?"

Jill replied, "As one can be with conspiracies and global pharmaceutical companies trying to create monsters."

"Right? Right. In their own backyard…what a bunch of dicks."

Jill turned back to look at the stone baby. Chris stepped up beside her. She shifted and touched his fingers again. He wove them together, brief, and it was like a hug. And then he made a sound. Like a gasp of surprise.

She glanced up and he dug into his pack. He pulled out a piece of green jade.

She lifted her brows at him.

And he said, "Watch and learn, Valentine. Watch and learn."

He pressed the piece of green into the arrowhead impression. Jill waited. And heard the CLICK and CLUNK of gears rotating. Chris backed up, she followed, and they both held their pistols on the receding stone baby.

It rolled back on itself to reveal a stair case lit with torches. Shadow and light flickered down the winding steps. The smell of something wet and coppery filled their noses.

Jill said, softly, "I don't want to go down there."

Chris laughed a little. "Me either."

"I'll give you a million dollars to go down there."

He considered it and said, "Valentine, you ain't got a million dollars. You're poor. You don't even have a can of SPAM."

"I have eight dollars in my glovebox in my car. It's all yours along with the sixty-two cents in the cupholder that may…or may not…be stuck there with old soda…if you go down those stairs."

They glanced at each other and he laughed. He just laughed. He laughed in the middle of the worst night of their lives. Jill grinned at him.

And he mused, "I'd rather have a hand job."

Jill laughed. She laughed and loved him. "Now? You wanna just lean on the wall and let me grab that donkey cock of yours and start pulling?"

Chris seemed to consider it. He studied her face. She lifted a brow. And he shifted himself around with his hand.

Jill raised both brows. "You dirty perv. You got hard from that? In the middle of a zombie apocalypse, you're sporting wood because of a joke?"

Chris chuckled and he didn't look the least ashamed, "Looks that way, kid. So maybe I go down those stairs and get an IOU on the handjob."

Jill smacked his ass. "There. A handjob."

Chris pursed his lips, "More like a gip job. But I'll let you make it up to me later."

"Old lecher. Go first and I'll let you grab a tit after."

Chris snorted out a laugh. He answered, drolly, "Deal. Wait here."

He started down the stairs. Jill watched him move and finally went down with him. He glanced at her in surprise. She bumped into his back as he stopped at the curve.

She twisted her mouth to the side. He lifted a brow.

And finally, Chris mused, "Your hand is on my ass."

Jill looked down and realized he was right. She'd been stuck to his back like glue with one hand in his back pocket. She blinked…twice. "I'd apologize. But it seems to have been there for awhile. And I'm fairly sure you like it."

Chris considered this and said, "I do. Stay close."

Jill curled her fingers into the butt in question, halting him as he started forward again. She whispered, "I'm facing my own wimpiness here, Redfield. It ain't pretty."

Chris turned his face over his shoulder to find her looking up at him. He figured they could take just this one moment to be real with each other. And he responded, gently, "I killed Kenneth. Sorta. He rose…I panicked. I fell down and crab walked away from him. I may…or may not…have squeaked a little."

Jill's eyes were wide. The firelight flickered in the pale blue of them. She twitched her lips..twice. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Possibly. But it's still true. This shit sucks, Jilly Bean. It's ok to be scared. And it's ok to wimp out. Just don't give up."

God damn she loved him. It rolled in her chest and stole her breath. A coward? No. He was a gift. He kept her head on her shoulders instead of up her ass with fear. What would she do without him?

Jill whispered back, "Redfield, you big squish, I'm on to you."

Chris laughed again, just a little, and dropped his shoulder. He rotated his head and Jill lifted hers. He dipped his face under her beret and touched his forehead to hers. She wanted to kiss him. And they were standing on the stairs surrounded by the undead.

So, she didn't. But she felt a hundred times stronger just standing there with him.

And then he said, "Only for you, Valentine. Keep that hand on my ass and cover it while you're at it."

"Deal."

She laughed, feeling the tingle in her fingers that told the story of her love for him. They moved down the stairs to the bottom.

The chamber was small. There wasn't a threat waiting. There was, however, a coffin suspended from the ceiling by chains. Below it were busts in strong marble. Jill moved toward them to see what was missing. Upon a closer look, she realized that one of the busts was missing a mask. It needed eyes and a nose and a mouth. The others were complete.

She opened her pack to pull out the mask in it.

Chris lifted a brow at her.

Jill said, "So I was in this room earlier. It had these suits of armor in it. They kept…popping away from the walls. I kept pushing them back. Eventually, I figured out they wanted me to push them in the right order. When I did that…I got a little box with this mask in it."

Chris was watching her.

She gave him a long look. "What?"

"You're kinda smart, kid."

And now she eyed him wryly. "Gee whiz, Red. Thanks. I try."

Chris eyed the coffin above them. "You ever get the feeling somebody is playing us here?"

The silence was his answer. Jill said, "When this over, we're drinking like fish. I will tell you stories...you will not believe some of the shit I've seen."

"That makes two of us, kiddo."

Jill laid the mask on the final bust. There was a clunk, a grind of metal, and the chains on the coffin burst and clattered. The lid opened and blood gushed. It gushed. It WHOOSHED and gushed onto the floor beneath it.

And a zombie spilled out with the blood.

It splattered to the floor and rose. It wasn't shambling. It didn't moan and stumble. It started running. It snarled and screeched and ran right at them.

Chris put two in its face and didn't even slow it down. It hit him in a full body tackle. Jill shouted. Chris hit the wall and went onto his back trying to keep the savage thing from ripping his throat out. He lost his gun, grappled for his combat knife, and Jill shouted.

It dived at his face and missed by a breath. His muscles kept it from getting him. If he'd been smaller, thinner, weaker…he'd have lost his nose. Jill was trying to find a shot. She watched it lunge for his throat and miss as he rolled left and it bit the top of his vest.

OH GOD.

Finally, she shouted.

"Red! Boots up and kick it high!"

He drove his boots into the stomach of it and tossed it up. It grabbed his vest and tried to bring him with it and there was a loud BOOM of sound in the small chamber. It hurt his ears. They started ringing and he threw his arm up to blow his face as the face of the zombie exploded. It was instant pink mist beneath the heavy shotgun round.

There was a splatter and scatter of bone and burnt tissues against his arm. Shuddering, he shoved the body off him. He started to roll to his feet, saying, "This place is the fucking shits, Jill. Seriously. What kind of sick psycho shit is this?! I'm in a god damn George A. Romero movie."

He brushed off his knees and turned to get to his feet from his crouch . Jill slid onto her knees and in between his arms. Surprised, he let her wrap him close. She was trembling.

Concerned, he stayed kneeling and held her shoulders. "Hey. I'm ok. What's this?"

She said, "It nearly got you twice. Twice. God. We're gonna die here, Chris. What the hell is happening?"

And now he cupped her face. "Hey. This is bad. I see that. You see that. It's really fucking bad, Jill. But we're not dead. Until we are? You keep fighting. Don't give up because it's scary. And if I go down.."

She shook her head at him and tried to move away, denying. He held her face. "Look at me, Jill."

Resisting, she met his eyes. He looked so calm. It steadied her. He said again, "If I go down, Jill, you keep fighting. That's how this works. It's the only way it works. You agreed when you joined STARS to keep on fighting. So you keep going."

She finally understood what had happened to him in the woods when he'd seen that man on her. She finally understood. And she saw why loving each other was so scary. Because it came with knowing that one of them could die.

And the other would have to keep on going.

Jill said, "I owe you an apology. I was so mad at you. You pulled away. I couldn't figure out why." She shifted her hands to his face, holding on. "I couldn't figure out why you'd give up just because things got tricky. But you didn't give up. You just…kept on going. You protected yourself and me in the only way you knew how…by walking away."

It was the wrong time for this kind of thing. So wrong. And so right. Because they could be dead soon. They could die in a moment. In a flash. In a second. It was the right time.

She finished, "You're the only thing in my life, besides Dog, that matters to me, Chris Redfield. Don't fucking die on me. Maybe I can't have you forever but I can't even begin to understand what it means to not have you in my life. Don't die on me."

Chris' eyes went back and forth over her face, scanning, searching…and finally he nodded a little. "It cuts both ways, Jill. Stay alive. No matter what else happens. Stay alive. You get lost, I will find you. Do you understand?"

Jill nodded, rapidly. "Same. Same. You get lost, you wait for me. Promise?"

"I swear. I won't leave you behind. Ever. I'll keep searching until I find you. Always."

"I believe you…and ditto, kiddo." He studied her face in the flickering torch light. There was blood and death and fear all around them. They were awash in it, lost in it, buried under it. They didn't know if they'd get out alive. They didn't know anything. The who, the why, the when…it was coming together.

The picture was terrifying. The picture was corrupt. The picture was corporation big. It was conspiracy big. It was bad. It was really scary.

And they were sinking deeper in it every minute.

There was no time for any of it.

Which is exactly why he jerked her up and kissed her. Because that's all he had anyway. And if he died, he wanted to die with her taste in his mouth to drown out the taste of terror.

She opened her mouth and met him with a ferocity that excited them both. It was wet, tongue and teeth and taking. It was full of love and need and hunger. Her arms wrapped around his neck and clung.

He rose to his feet with her against him. Her feet dangled as they clung to each other. Finally, they came up for air. He set her down. Jill shivered.

Chris shivered.

And there was a clink of metal as something tumbled out of the empty coffin and landed amongst the blood.

They both looked at the tiny metal octagonal piece. Jill said, "Another puzzle?"

"Looks that way. Let's take it with us. I need to get back and check on Rebecca and Richard. You'll come with me?"

"Are you kidding? Why would we separate now?"

Chris nodded and they turned back to the stairs. They moved slowly up them and Jill said, at the top, "…I love you."

Surprised, he glanced down at her. She scanned his face. "I do. I love you. I watched Joseph go down and all I can think is how Maggie will feel. How she'll feel without him. You're my best friend. My guy. I love you. I agree that we can't be together. Not now. But I love you. I want you to know that."

In the year that he'd known her, she'd been anywhere from a pain in the ass to the only thing in his world that mattered. She was both now and would always be. She was the cat's pajamas and his best friend. She was the love of his life and his partner in crime. Love? A dumb word. But it would seem all they had at the moment.

"I love you, Jill. Always. Always. You and me?" He lifted his fingers and crossed them. "Twined up, kid."

Jill nodded and rubbed his arm. "Yeah. Yeah. Twined up. Twin souls?"

"That's the rumor. You get me. I dig you. That's all I got."

His headset buzzed. Hers did too. And a voice cried out, "Chris! Hurry! Oh hurry! I left Richard...I had to get more serum. I'm stuck! It's coming and I'm so scared! Oh GOD! I'm in the study on the first floor...it's COMING!"

Chris grabbed Jill to him. "I have to go after her. Jill...Richard is on the second floor, end of a long hallway with a broken door. Get him. Get him and get to the lobby. I will get Rebecca and meet you there. Say yes."

"Yes. Go. Go. I will find you. I'll get Richard. I'll get him to safety. Hurry!"

He turned and ran. He turned back at the door. He pointed to his chest, "In here. That's where you are. Stay alive, Jill."

And he was gone through the door. The night was hot and humid. The night was wet.

And so were the frightened tears that shimmered in her eyes.


	13. Chapter 13

XIII: It was a ssssnake…Owwww….

:::::::::::::THIRTEEN:::::::::::::

In hindsight, cardio might have been a better place to focus then strength training.

As he ran, breathing fast and hard, Chris Redfield was very aware, painfully aware, that he was might be too fucking slow to get there in time. He could hear Rebecca in his headset making little sounds of fear. He could hear Jill as she ran toward Richard to hopefully bring him to safety.

He could hear his own heartbeat which thundered loud and fast and desperate in his ears. The expression swallowing your heart came to mind. He'd never really understood it until now. He kept picturing Rebecca eaten alive by zombies. He ran faster.

And he was still bone deep, blood pounding afraid he'd be too late.

In the hallway, the thing in front of Rebecca was making a warbling sound, it sounded like a chittering and clicking mixed with some kind of gibberish. It was short, squat, ugly and had an arm with claws as long as a man's arm. It had scaly flesh like a snake or a toad. It hunkered a little as it stalked her, snapping its razor sharp teeth.

She lifted the little Beretta she had, aiming it shakily. "Please don't?"

It charged at her, shrieking.

She screamed, turned, and started running.

The hallway, old and musty, with peeling wall paper and mold; seemed long and endless. She raced, her heart slamming behind her ribs. The first slash of its clawed hand missed her head by an inch and took a chunk of her hair with it.

Rebecca screamed again and shoved through the door at the end of the hallway. She pushed it closed behind her, throwing the lock on it. The hunter smashed into it, roaring. She heard it hit, felt the door shiver beneath the assault, and it hit again. Dust shook loose from the strength of the blow.

She whimpered and turned, studying the room. It was a small L shaped office. There was an old desk with some books and a lamp on it. There were a few shelves beyond it with dusty hard back literature. She ran to the opposite door and turned the knob.

Locked.

Terrified, horrified, she threw her small frame against it. The door didn't even budge. She kicked it, feeling the first bubbling burst of tears. "Oh please! Oh god!"

The other door rattled on its hinges. It wouldn't hold long. She turned and desperately started digging through the desk for a key, a tire iron, a flame thrower…a chance. No such luck. The drawers were useless; drawers with a letter opener, an ink pen, a small journal and a bottle of scotch.

Rebecca let out a quiet sob. This was it. This was the moment she would die huddled in this dirty old mansion torn to shreds by some monster. She'd survived so much to get here. She'd left Billy. She was a tougher, better, faster.

The door rattled and the thing roared.

Her bravado crumbled and she stumbled back, aiming the wavering pistol at the rattling door. She was going to die fighting at least. It was all she could do.

The communicator on her vest buzzed static for a moment and then a voice filled it, distant but familiar, "…there?"

She grabbed it and pressed the button, "I'm trapped on the second floor in an office. I need help!"

"Rebecca!"

And now she recognized the voice. He sounded closer? Closer than he'd been previously? "Chris!"

"Are you alright?"

"Oh Chris! Hurry! I don't know how long I can keep it out!"

"Rebecca, hold on! I'm coming! Listen to me, if it breaks through the door AIM FOR THE FACE!"

"OK." She whispered it, keeping the gun aimed on that rattling door. The absence of his voice felt like a death knell. The door jerked, shook, splintered and burst open smashing into the opposite wall. Rebecca let out a shout and fired the pistol.

The shot went wild, hitting the thing in the shoulder. It roared, spun off course but not for long. It bunched up its muscles, prepared to leap. She aimed again, steadied herself…and her gun jammed.

She froze, horrified. Her hands desperately tried to fix the jam. The thing leapt, high and fast. She dropped to the floor, screaming, and rolled. It landed where she'd been and missed killing her by a breath. She scrambled across the floor, toward the other side of the room and the open door.

It swiped at her again and it was too close, the room too narrow. It caught her medipack on her back and sliced it clean away. The bag tumbled, broken, but had probably saved her life. She was almost to the door and it landed on her.

The world slowed down as she fell to her face, screaming. She rolled to her back as it shrieked at her, trumpeting its victory cry on putrid, reeking breath. She threw her arms over her face, still screaming and waited for it to kill her.

The claw flew up; the arm trembled, and down it came toward her face.

The other door flew open, kicked fast and wide by the man beyond it. The shotgun blast was so loud it blocked out all other sound but the cacophonus roar of steel and 12 gauges. It didn't just hit the thing on top of her, it blasted it off its feet. The hunter was blown off her and smashed into the wall beyond.

Rebecca scrambled away, screaming.

Chris Redfield didn't stop, didn't blink. He jacked another shell into the chamber and took another step into the room. The hunter twitched, trying to rise. "I don't think so, you stupid fuck." And he blasted it again, blowing apart its face and stomach from less than three feet away. Bone and blood sprayed in a geyser, splattering the room around it. The room smelled now of sulfur and death.

It didn't move again.

The silence was so loud it was painful. He turned and looked down at her. She was still on the floor, lying on her back looking up at him. It was the first moment she'd seen the face of a hero. He put his hand down to her, offering her a way up. "You ok?"

He was so young and handsome. His boyish good looks and impish sense of humor had made him both well liked and crush worthy by more than a few girls around the RPD. And he'd given her the sweetest little kiss anyone had ever offered. He was her friend…and apparently her savior. He played it off like he wasn't looking. But that was just because he was ALWAYS looking at Jill Valentine. Everyone…sorta knew about it. She wasn't aware that HE knew. But everyone else? They knew.

Rebecca got to her feet, holding his hand.

He said, "Sorry it took so long. I got turned around for a minute. Turns out I'm better at point and shoot than I am at navigation. Don't tell Jill, she'll never let me live it down."

She laughed, desperately, "I think you got here just in time."

"I saw it on top of you, scared twenty fucking years off my life."

"Mine too."

He smiled at her, "You sure you're ok?"

She was shaking so badly she thought she'd pass out from it. "I'm fine. Really. Although I think it got my pack." She moved to pick it up off the floor. The pack was completely split in half. It was perfectly bisected and all the contents littered the floor between them.

It could have been her face. She stared at the mess and started crying.

And the hero who'd saved her life looped the shotgun over his back, took her in his arms, and held her. He scooped her against him and she fit there, tiny and sobbing. Undone, Chris leaned on the desk and patted her while she hiccupped cutely and miserably.

She stuttered, adorably, as she sobbed, "It was a FROG! Or a LIZARD! OR a DEMON! It was so mean! Why did it want to kill me!? Why?! I asked it to LEAVE ME ALONE!"

Trying not find her…probably the cutest thing on earth…Chris patted her back a little and couldn't stop the laugh. "Oh honey…honey…I don't think it works that way."

"What did they do here, Chris? What did they do? They made MONSTERS! Like Frankenstein. Like God. They made monsters. How do we survive that?" She sobbed wetly into his neck, her skinny arms wrapped around his chest. He wished he knew the answer. He wished he knew anything.

But staring at the still smoking corpse of the dead…lizard hunter man…he couldn't offer her any solace. So he just kept holding…just for a little longer.

...

Jill found the room where Richard was…not. He was NOT there. He had, apparently, gotten tired of waiting. There was blood on the floor and shit tons of spider webs…in hindsight, she might have taken that as a bad omen and NOT gone through the door that was ajar beside the blood on the floor.

Also, it had seemed a good idea at the time to give Chris her shotgun. It had. He was off to save Rebecca, she was just trying to get Richard back to the foyer. No big deal. Right? Right?

WRONG.

She eased open the slightly ajar door and found Richard. She found him…sorta. Half of him. Half…half of Richard. She made a sound of horror as her eyes made sense of what she was seeing. He was STILL ALIVE!

She dropped, trying to drag..half of him…out the door with her. Richard's lower body was entirely gone. Gone. GONE. It was ripped away until his intestines spilled like putrid snakes all over the floor around him. He had no hips, he had no legs, he was squelching and squishing in blood and fluids and gore.

Richard grabbed for her shoulders and gasped, blood GUSHING from his open mouth. The terror, the fear, the horror bled into her belly and made her feel nauseaus and light headed. He gasped, gasped, gurgled and it came out wet and awful, "Jill…it was a snaaakkkeee…..owww…."

It should have been comic. He hissed it. He hissed his last words like…a snake. But it was awful. Jill tried to hold on to him but how did you stop the bleeding when it was everywhere? "Richard….please…"

But he was dead. He was staring glassy eyed and fixed at her face. She felt her body start to shake. She was shaking so badly. She was shaking and crying.

Crying?

Crying.

She tucked him against her and dragged his bloody corpse from the room. She laid him on the floor against the wall. She was keening in her throat. It was bad. Her hands were cold. Her brain? It was locked in a state of shock. She knew that, objectively, as she tried to find something to cover up Richard's dead body. She was trying to feel something but she was so cold.

There were tears on her face, her arms and belly were trembling. She stepped back into the room where she'd found him dead on the floor to try to find something to cover him up, to give him….just a little dignity. Kevin, Joseph, Kenneth…Richard….their faces as they laughed. Their faces as they joked. Their faces as they all sat together and played hacky sack. Her heart. HER HEART….she was going to have a heart attack in this god forsaken place.

She put the heel of her hand to her breastbone and rubbed roughly. She gave herself a sternum rub and stole her own breath. She found an old blanket on the shelf in the attic where she found herself. Jill picked it up and tucked its dusty folds under her arm.

She turned back to return it to the body of her fallen friend…

…and she was no longer alone.

She was staring into the eyes of a snake. A snake, he'd said…a snake. If she hadn't been knee deep in shock, she'd have known what he meant. Not a small garden snake. No. Not a cobra…a basilisk. A snake that was twenty feet long with a head as big as a man…with fingers as long as an arm. It coiled, it curled, it hissed and flicked its horrid tongue at her.

She'd invaded its hidey hole. She'd entered its nest. She'd pissed it off.

And she had a fucking handgun. Not even drawn. Not drawn. Her gun? Tucked into her holster while she carried the blanket.

Jill said, softly, "Please don't."

And the snake struck.

She screamed. She screamed, no lie there. And she threw the blanket at it.

In the lobby where they waited, after putting down the time and their names on the typewriter, Chris and Rebecca both heard her screaming on the radio. They locked eyes and started running.

Jill rolled as the enormous fangs missed her shoulder by inches. It struck into the bookshelf where she'd been. It shattered and splintered wood and sent items to the floor in a horrible racket. It shook the whole floor beneath her as she rolled, stumbled, and ran for the door.

The blanket was on its stupid face, blocking it for just a handful of seconds. It tossed its head wildly, roaring. If a snake could roar? It was roaring.

It's coiled tail whipped at her and caught her full body. It hit her and threw her across the room. As she flipped and smashed into the wall, Jill felt her whole body collapse in pain. She slid down the wall and tried to relearn how to breathe.

She fumbled her gun from holster and shot at it. She shot at it as it whipped its head trying to restore its vision from the beneath the blanket. It flicked its tail at her again and she ducked, feeling it smash into the wall above her head. It cracked the sheetrock and dry wall peppered down on her face.

Jill crawled away and pushed to her feet. It whipped that tail once more and she leapt, tucked, and flipped over it. She skidded toward the door, caught the knob and jerked the door open. And the snake? It was free of the blanket now.

It dove at her.

She screamed, fell on her butt in a less impressive moment, and shot it right in its open mouth. Blood erupted, spraying everywhere, as it took a mouth full of rounds. It whipped its head in pain and Jill rolled sideways out of the door. She was breathing so hard that it was making her light headed.

She scrambled toward the other door in the small room and the snake burst through the door where she'd come from. It ripped apart the door frame and the room shivered, shaking like an earthquake. The noise was so loud it hurt the ears. Jill turned back to see it dive for her and she…shoved Richard at it.

Horrified but desperate, she picked up the half eaten body of her fallen comrade and shoved him into its waiting jaws. It snapped those fangs shut on him and ripped him from her hands. It tossed him around, impaled on those awful spurting fangs and blood sprayed and splashed the walls as if a paint sprayer was throwing red around them.

Jill emptied her clip at it as it tried to dislodge Richard from its fangs. Jill grabbed the door knob behind her and it whipped its tail at her. She ducked right and the tail smashed the door, bowing it outward. She jerked and it wouldn't budge.

She was trapped here with the snake. Trapped.

Trapped.

She holstered her empty gun and pulled her knife. She turned back, watching it whip its head and throw the body of Richard Aiken clear with a wet slurp of torn flesh, muscle, and blood. The blood. The blood would haunt her.

The snake dove at her face while the walls shook.

She waited, timed it, and rolled right. She felt the air split where she'd been standing, the snake struck the wall with its fangs, and she rolled into it. She drove her knife into it. She knifed its ugly eyes while it lodged there and hissed, whipping and hissing and trying to break free of its own entrapment.

Jill leapt on the back of its head, avoided losing her legs to its whipping body, and two fisted her blade. She brought it down in a stabbing arch. She took its eyes in the first round, listening to it roar, and aimed for its brain.

But it had had enough. Enough. It ripped its fangs from the wall where it had been trapped and the impact of it threw her. She was tossed up toward the ceiling. She hit the ceiling and gasped but held onto the knife. She tumbled back to the floor and the now blinded snake caught her. It caught and wrapped her in its curling, coiled, awful body. The muscle of the snaking body stole her fight.

It curled around her like a cobra and bound her arms and legs to her sides. The blind snake rose above her, gushing blood from its decimated eyes, spilling it from its half shattered mouth. It still had one good fang to impale her. It had what it needed.

Jill closed her eyes and waited for it.

She thought of Dog. She thought of all the things she'd never done. She thought of Chris, of course, and the way he laughed. The fear turned her body to stone but her mind? Her mind pictured his face. And the first time he'd told her he loved her.

I love you, Jill. He'd said it so simply. The coils tightened again and it was almost peaceful now. It cut off the blood flow to her head. She felt herself slipping toward the darkness as it compressed her central nervous system and left her weak and empty. And her eyes opened to see it almost dance with that bleeding face. A big blob of blood splattered on her shoulder and arm. It reared back and came in for the final bl—

The broken door erupted off its hinges. The splintered wood wasn't just pushed open, it was kicked down so hard it spun across the floor. She felt almost surreal watching it.

And when he stepped through, jerking the shotgun in one hand like a video game hero, she remembered something important…Chris was a door kicker. He kicked in doors. It was his thing.

Thank god.

Rebecca let out a cry of fright, she hesitated. Chris? He didn't hesitate. He rolled that shotgun in his hands put a heavy round into the diving face of the snake. He blew apart the side of its head three inches from her face. It roared, it whipped that body toward them. Rebecca shot it with her handgun, the tail caught her legs and tripped her. She went down and drove her knife into its rolling body while she did it. The little Valkyrie.

Chris stepped over it like Schwarzenegger or something and kept walking toward it. He did that…movie hero thing…he jerked shells into it with one hand and fired at it while he walked. He looked…maybe it was the shock…but she could see something all over him she'd missed before. The shadow of something else…something great. And he didn't look afraid. No. More than that? He looked like this is where he belonged. He belonged here…fighting the monsters.

He blasted it again and again and again. Jill felt it plop and ooze as it shivered, as its face was obliterated in red wash of bone and rot. And the coiled body relaxed. The body twitched, gave one last spasm of death, and flopped bonelessly to the floor. Jill, cold with shock, spilled to one side.

Chris caught her and lifted her. She curled around his front like a monkey. He carried her to the far wall and set her gently against it. Rebecca knelt beside her to inspect her for wounds.

Jill glanced up at them. She was so pale. She glanced over to see the body of Richard there on the floor a few feet away. She whispered, "I couldn't save him. I tried…I tried…"

Rebecca soothed her softly, clucking her tongue. She petted her hair. Little mother, Jill thought, watching her young face, look at you.

Chris turned back to the body of the snake. He was digging in the coils for something. Jill felt Rebecca put a plunger against her arm. She glanced down in surprise. Rebecca looked a little sheepish, "Tetanus shot…can't hurt right?"

Jill chuckled a little and Richard's blood seeped over from his body and touched her hand. It was cold. She lifted her hand to see it. His blood…on her hands.

She lifted it up. "Oh my god…"

Rebecca stroked her face a little with such sympathy on her pixie face. "Jill, it's not your fault. None of this. You tried. We all tried. You can't fall apart now. Not yet."

Chris knelt beside her. He knelt in the blood. Chris Redfield knelt in the blood and didn't flinch. It ran around the knee of his uniform and he blocked it from touching her any more. The significance wasn't lost on her. She blinked at him.

And he sat her beret back on her head.

She felt her mouth tilt up in a smile. It trembled. He cupped her face and didn't like how cold she was.

Rebecca said, softly, "She's shocky. Jill?"

Jill kept staring at him. Her head was fuzzy. Her belly rolled with nausea. Chris took her arms and lifted her to stand. He rubbed her arms briskly and shook them. Jill stumbled and he shifted his hands to butt to keep her from falling over.

Her eyebrows went up into her hair. "Whoa. Groped in blood…a new experience."

She turned her face toward him. He was rubbing her back briskly. Her cold lips slid against his chin. He turned his head to her. Those eyes, she thought wildly, like a peacock or something. All kinds of blue and green and swirly. She said, "You found my hat."

"I did. You look drunk, Valentine. Feeling fuzzy?"

"I am. Richard…he was ripped in half, Chris. He was ripped in half. I wanted to save him. But there was a snake…" He smacked her ass when she tried to put her tongue in his ear. "…ow."

"Focus, kid. I'm sorry about Richard. I'm sorry as hell. But I can't have you going into a fucking coma or something from shock Jill. You're better then this. Get it together."

Jill laughed a little breathily. "Better, he says. I just fought a snake as big as a double decker bus. I saw Joseph ripped apart. I saw Richard ripped apart. I watched zombies try to eat me. What is this, Chris? What is this? This isn't what I signed up for. This is wrong. It's bad. I want to go home. Take me home. Take me home ok? Just take me home."

Her eyes glittered with tears.

These girls, he thought wildly, they were trying to rip his heart out with their pain. Jill was trying to kill him with fear for her. Rebecca and her sweet denial of the horror here. They were good girls, good girls that just wanted to be heroes. Here was the chance, for all of them, to stop something awful from leaking beyond this place. They just…had to survive.

He cupped her face now to held that droopy gaze. "Jill, look here. Look at me."

She whispered, "I'm looking at you. Don't you get it? I'm always looking at you. I can't stand here and watch a snake rip you in half. I won't survive it! I won't make it. I can't protect you, Chris. I can't protect anyone. All the training? All the simulations? They are USELESS. Where is Captain Wesker? Where is Barry? WHAT IS HAPPENING HERE?! How could this happen inches from our city and NO ONE KNEW!?"

Chris soothed her, glancing at Rebecca with worry on his face. Jill slumped against him, breathing too fast.

Rebecca said, "We need to get her blood pressure up, quickly. Lay her down over here."

Chris lifted her and carried her over to the dusty blanket Rebecca laid against the far wall. Jill watched him shift her legs and push them up. She giggled.

Chris glanced at Rebecca with something like horror. "She just giggled."

"I heard."

Jill made a desperate gasp as the nausea rolled in her belly. "Let go! I'm gonna blow!"

She rolled to the side and dry heaved. Rebecca patted her back gently. Nothing came up, thank god. But the forceful heaving helped clear her head.

She slumped a little and Chris helped her to her feet.

"You ok?"

She gave him a thumbs up and reminded him of Rebecca. And he'd seen that fucking snake three inches from her face. The fear still shivered in his chest like butterfly wings. She was right about one thing: they couldn't protect each other. Unless they STAYED TOGETHER.

And that was proving hard to do with so much happening.

Rebecca rose from the floor. She eyed them both. "I can tell you we have to find the truth here. We have to. Whoever did this? They can't get away with this. We can't let our friends have died for nothing."

Chris was already nodding. Jill was looking at Richard's body on the floor. Chris picked up the blanket on the floor and put it over his body. Jill crouched and jerked his dog tags free.

She rose and breathed, slow and steady. "Thank you, both of you. For that. I'm sorry you just bore witness to my panic attack. It won't happen again."

Chris met her swirling gaze. He smiled a little. "We all did it. All of us."

Rebecca was nodding sharply. "Yep. On the train. And again when Chris saved me before this. It's ok, Jill. It's ok. We can't survive this without falling apart first. It's how you build yourself back up. You break; you glue it back together."

Jill looked at her tiny form. What a girl. Brave. The brave little mouse.

They drew strength in their semi-circle and they moved together into the hallway. Chris offered Jill the only spare ammo left for her pistol. He had two rounds in the shotgun and eight in his pistol. Rebecca had a full clip for her gun. They were…screwed…really if they came up on another snake.

They moved into an adjacent room. A piano waited there and a beautiful bar stocked with expensive liquor. The wall beyond the bar was a long, flawless mirror. A painting of a beautiful castle like estate adorned the farthest wall from them. Beside it, a picture of a bunch of scientists showed happy, laughing, excited faces. Two of the faces were rubbed out as if the viewer had been enraged by them.

Jill touched the ivory keys. A piece of sheet music was sitting on the beautiful grand piano. A Steinway, it rolled her blood to see it. She hadn't touched one since the last foster home she'd been in. They'd gotten her lessons. Good people, they hadn't been able to keep her. Henri had come and taken her just as they'd discussed adoption.

She tickled the keys and listened to the beautiful and haunting strains of Moonlight Sonata. The music was torn and unfinished but Rebecca stepped up beside her and helped her play now. They worked together, piecing the music together.

Chris watched them play. The mirror reflected back the view of them. Rebecca, small and skinny, sweet and strong in her way. Jill, beautiful and determined, able to break and come back stronger and harder. Survivors? They were something. They all were.

He was the weakest person in the room. Surely they knew that. Maybe he was bigger…but he'd never be stronger. He suspected he might be the biggest coward of the bunch under the muscle.

The wall behind the bar made a sound of releasing. They stopped playing. They all turned, slowly. The wall became a door and opened to show a small room beyond.

Jill laid her hand on his arm and Chris realized…he'd aimed his weapon without thinking. He was just covering them on instinct. It had been a long night.

Rebecca stepped into the small room and picked up a jewelry box sitting there. She tilted it and inspected it. He watched her work the puzzle on it. It tinkled musically and the top opened. Inside was a tiny little gold plate with a picture of wind on it.

She lifted it, showing it to them.

Chris said, "These fucking puzzles. Keep it. Let's head back to the foyer. I just had a brain fart on where I saw a similar shape."

They moved back into the foyer. Jill went to type their names and the time on the typewriter and Chris crossed with Rebecca around the back side of the huge entryway. There was a metal gate there built into the back of the stairs…and two empty octagonal slots on either side.

Rebecca made a sound and poked the wind disk in one but it was too small. Mouth pursed, she sighed. Jill joined them and stared, blinked, and pulled the little red and white disk that had fallen out of the coffin in the cemetery tomb. She poked it in one opening. It clicked, settled, and from somewhere down the stairs on the other side of the locked gate…something let out a pitiful, frightening, hungry moan.

They glanced at each other with trepidation.

Chris quipped, "So, we need the other disk to get in there….maybe we don't find it. Maybe we just…don't."

Rebecca chuckled. Jill snorted a little. "Big baby."

"Potentially. Maybe I just want to go home too."

"Shit. Makes three of us." Rebecca grinned at them. Her little voice saying shit made them both laugh.

Chris led them back into the foyer. "So we need to potentially clear the upstairs and head out through the courtyard. The map I found in one of those rooms indicates there's a dormitory across the courtyard through the woods."

"…you want to go out into the woods in the dark, the rain, and with packs of rotting dogs out there?"

The wry amusement in Jill's voice wasn't lost on anyone. Chris eyed her with a smirk. "No. No I don't. I want to go home, play with dog, eat a burrito, and take a shit followed by a butt naked nap…that's what I WANT to do. Sadly, I don't think that's happening."

Rebecca giggled a little.

Jill said, "I will go across the courtyard and start checking it out."

Chris paused, blinking at her. "You gotta be kidding. You want to split up again?"

Rebecca intoned, "I will go with her. Chris…together? We'll be ok. We can't stay together in threes like this. It will take forever for us to cover the whole area. Clear the top floor and come meet us. We have the communicators. We have guns. No one is going to freak out again…we'll be ok."

Chris studied them. Jill smiled at him a little. "We'll be ok, big guy. We will. Us itty bitty girls? We'll be just fine."

Amused, he twitched his mouth. "Fucking RUN from any snakes, Jill. What about the lizard men? You find one? You'll end up gutted."

He tossed her the shotgun. She caught it, watching his face. "What about you? You gonna kill it with a handgun?"

"I'll punch the shit out of it or something. Don't worry about me."

"….you can't punch everything you come across, Chris. It doesn't work that way."

"Try me. I'd fight an airplane…or a giant…or a cat if I had to. I promise you."

Rebecca looked at the gate by the stairs. "Punch that. Maybe it will work."

Shrugging, Chris lifted his boot and kicked it so hard that it echoed through the foyer. Rebecca jumped. Jill chuckled.

The gate stayed closed.

Rebecca shrugged, "It never hurts to hope."

They turned toward the door leading into the courtyard. Jill glanced back as Chris mounted the stairs. She called, "Hey Redfield?"

He glanced at her from the landing, looking down at her.

"Don't…be a hero, ok? Just…punch it and run."

Chris grinned at her and then he stopped, considering. He reached up around his neck and unhooked his St. Christopher medal that he wore. His Mom had given it to him after he'd graduated flight school. He dropped it and it tumbled, musically, to be caught in her gloved hand.

She glanced at it and at him again.

He said, "I have your penny. You take my faith. Seems fair right?"

A little choked up, Jill looped it over her neck and tucked it into her uniform. "Seems fair," She agreed softly, "Hurry back ok?"

Chris grinned a little. "Cheese and rice, Valentine. Can't you stand to be away from me for even a little while?"

Jill snorted out a laugh. "Keep it, Red. Make this a lot easier on me."

"You can oogle my sweet ass when I get back, kid. I promise."

"I'm gonna kick your sweet ass when you get back. I promise."

Grinning, he disappeared through a far door. Jill waited, listening to the sound of a ticking clock somewhere. Rebecca glanced at her.

They held gazes.

Rebecca said, "You love him. It's all over you. Why aren't you together?"

Jill laughed a little and they moved into the courtyard. They cleared as they moved and she spoke softly, "This is why. Look how he's mixed in with me. I'm a mess for him. Loving him is one thing, loving him and being with him? It's just another mess. He's my best friend. We're both trying to figure out what that means."

They followed a small path through a short patch of woods and came out by a beautiful, burbling, glistening fountain. Crows cawed and hung around it, sipping the pretty crystalline water. Jill and Rebecca moved gingerly toward the far side of the wide open courtyard.

There was a large building that waited for them. Not nearly as big as the mansion, it looked more like a clubhouse or something. They eased open the door and stepped inside. It was cool inside, indicating that either the air conditioning was still working or that the source of the coolness came from somewhere else.

The walls were papered in pretty fleur delis in dark cranberry. The staging of the building had the same feel as the mansion, old but stately. A manor or something. A gothic estate with antique furniture and pretty glistening wood.

A type writer sat on an old, perfectly oiled secretariat. Jill moved to it and typed her name, the time, and her location. "Where are we?"

Rebecca glanced up at her. "This looks like a gathering room…so I'd guess this was the living quarters?"

"Ok…so….dormitory?"

"Sure."

They cleared the main room and opened the first door there. It was, indeed, a row of bunk beds and chests that were meant to hold belongings. They picked through the room looking for anything useful.

Rebecca took a moment to scan a diary left on a bed. She was shaking her head sadly as she read. Jill glanced over at her.

"Bad?"

"It mentions an outbreak. It talks about the lab becoming over run. The person writing it died after being bitten by a dog. They turned and ate their friend. The cognitive function of the brain allowed them to continue to write in this diary after the infection started…"

"Which means?"

"It means you have time before you turn. Time to understand you're dying. It means, without disabling the brain, if you're bitten…you turn."

They held gazes. Jill nodded, sadly. "So don't get bitten."

"I would suggest, based on the nature of things, don't have any blood contact with it. Any of it. If it gets in an open sore…exposed tissues…like the eyes or the nose or the mouth…you're probably done for."

Again, they held gazes. Jill queried, "Airborne?"

"Doesn't appear that way, no. But I wouldn't trust the water anywhere around here."

"I'm not drinking water from a tap EVER again."

They moved toward a door labeled 002. They could hear the muted sounds of talking beyond the door. Jill lifted her hand to hold Rebecca at bay and they crouched, listening against the wood. It was muffled and impossible to discern much.

Finally, Jill mouthed to Rebecca, "Barry?"

And Rebecca nodded.

They opened the door and stepped inside just as he shouted, loudly, "I WON'T DO IT! YOU HEAR ME!?"

Barry stood inside the room alone. He was talking to no one. He was, apparently, talking to himself. He jumped when he saw them, gasped, and dropped the bottle in his hands. It clattered to the floor and rolled.

Rebecca picked it up to look at it.

Around them, bottles lined the walls. Beakers of things were full of colorful liquids. Rebecca moved to study the piles of papers on the desk there. Barry was staring at them in horror.

Jill spoke to him like he was, possibly, insane, "You ok, big guy?"

Barry laughed nervously and shifted. "This place huh? It's starting to wear on me. I think I might be hallucinating."

Rebecca glanced at him shrewdly, "You get bitten?"

"No. Why?"

"Just checking."

Barry looked between them. "You guys ok?"

Jill studied him, crossing her arms over her chest. "We're fine but Richard…didn't make it."

Barry made a sound of distress and turned away to stare at the bed in the room. Jill turned to Rebecca who was holding the bottle he'd dropped. She lifted her gaze.

"Barry…do you know what this is?"

He was shaking his head. He looked so pale. He was twitchy and jumpy and weird. Just weird. Jill kept watching him like a cat with a mouse. He was freaking out. Why? What the hell had he seen?

It was bad. It was all bad. But this wasn't like Barry at ALL.

Rebecca replied, "It's a component for something called V-Jolt. This paperwork here insists it's how you stop the Dia Abhor AKA Plant 42."

Jill lifted a brow, "That what?"

Barry answered, "It's in the next room. The next one over. It's…something to see. It's the evil plant from Little Shop of Horrors on crack. Fifteen tentacles…they could crush you. Each one is as thick as your waist. You're saying we can kill it?"

Rebecca was reading the instructions. "I can according to this. Just give me a bit here to mix it together."

Jill nodded and turned to the door. "I'll go take a look at it. You two wait here."

She moved back into the hallway and headed toward room 003. She touched the knob and turned it…and there it was. Barry was right. It was ten feet tall and had a bulbous base like a plant…that was infected. It pussed, it pulsed, it dripped infection onto the ground from the disgusting blobs that grew off its fat stem. The tentacles were sliding and slipping like snakes over the ground. There was a watering system set up around it, feeding it…blood. Potentially blood.

Horrified, Jill eased the door closed and turned back to the other room.

Rebecca was shaking a bottle as she entered. Barry was gone.

"Where did he go this time!?"

"He said he knew where Enrico might be. Does he seem off to you?"

Jill sighed. She shifted to see what Rebecca was doing. "He does. He seems nervous or too scared. It's weird right? I know this is AWFUL. I know it's terrifying. But Barry is totally wussing out."

"He's so big. I forget that big guys can be…"

"Weak?"

Always the softie, Rebecca shook her head. "No. Not weak. GENTLE. He's a big squish."

"I know the type." Jill sat down on the bed and felt it shift just a little. Her eyebrows went up into her hair. She leaned over to look under the bed…and saw a ladder.

Curious, she shifted the bed further. And sure enough, there was a ladder beneath it.

"Bec?"

"Hmm?"

"What…the…fuck…"

Rebecca turned back to her. She blinked. They held gazes and both looked at the ladder. "So…" Rebecca said in a sing song voice, "That explains the part of the instructions that say to poison the ROOT system of the plant huh?"

"Do we need to kill the plant? Seriously? Can't we just leave?"

"What if it has the other piece we need?"

SHIT, Jill thought

Jill sighed. She said, "SHIT. Shit shit and double shit." Since just thinking it wasn't doing anyone any good.

Rebecca nodded. She offered the bottle. "This should work though."

They held eyes.

Jill asked, drolly, "It should work? As in, POSSIBLY?"

"Theoretically."

"…..you want me to go down a ladder into the unknown to try to poison something based on theoretical knowledge?" Jill thought it sounded stupid just saying it out loud. Stupid. Insane. Ridiculous.

"Why not? We're in a mansion surrounded by the undead."

The medic had a good point.

Jill took the bottle and put it in her pack. "You want to come with me?"

"You want me to?"

"Honestly? Yeah. But you should wait here. Clear the rest of this manor if you want but BE CAREFUL."

Rebecca nodded, watching her descend. "Hey Jill?"

Jill paused on the ladder, "Hmm?"

"I…like Chris. I like him. If we survive this…do you mind if I…maybe…would it be ok with you if I just….you know.." Rebecca was blushing so sweetly. Jill paused, watching her.

"You want to ask him out?"

Rebecca gnawed her lip a little. "I wouldn't ordinarily bring it up like this…but we could be dead soon so…you're my friend…but he's…." She trailed off and lifted her hands.

Yeah, Jill thought, he's something alright. She smiled at her. "Becs, he's not my boyfriend. You go for it. He could do worse, I promise you."

And Jill went down the ladder while Rebecca watched her with owl eyes.

She thought about it as she climbed. She didn't like the idea of him with anyone. That part was true. But she'd meant the friendship thing. That meant dealing with the jealousy. She figured it would always be complicated with them but she'd meant the other part too. He could do worse then Rebecca Chambers.

…

Currently, he was doing worse.

He had managed to avoid death by dogs on the balcony of the mansion. It was cool up on the second floor and the sound of crickets were nearly musical. Two dead dogs lay around in their own rot and gore. One had been a clean shot to the face. The other had leaped on him and taken him down to receive an unceremonious knife to the side of the head.

Chris moved around the corner, pistol raised, and heard the cawing. The crows were gathered in force. They were also murder…literally a murder of crows. Because Forest Speyer was leaning against the far wall…or what was left of him.

Chris made some sound. Forest was almost his best dude friend. Almost. They'd gone fishing and bowling and racing bikes. They were friendly competitors on the range. They were wingmen sometimes at the bar. They played darts and drilled farts at each other to stink the other out. They were bros.

Forest was being plucked clean by the crows around his corpse. His face was naked bone with pieces of flesh still chunked on it in bleeding hunks. His eyes were gone, his lips were missing…his hair was scraggly in its stupid ponytail. His sniper rifle sat beside him, useless. The crows cawed at Chris as they took notice of him. He moved toward the body of his friend and they flew away, flapping and crying their discontent to the night.

Chris knelt beside Forest's body. He put his hand on his shoulder. The last time he'd seen him, Forest had spent the evening making jokes and trying to light his farts. He was as immature as they came. And loyal. He was loyal. He was always on Chris' side in a fight, in a dispute, in a throw down. They'd gotten into a fist fight with two rednecks at J's Bar one night. Forest, tall and skinny, had thrown punches and whooped like a warrior while they tussled in the alley behind the bar.

"I gotcha BACK, Redddddfieeelld!" He was always drawing out Chris' name like that. Sing song and silly. And then he'd howl like a wolf. He was always shouting BROS BEFORE HOOOOOES! He was always hitting on girls and crashing and burning.

Chris had never had a brother…but Forest Speyer had been close enough.

Chris gripped his dog tags and jerked them clean. He picked up the sniper rifle and rose. He felt numb, empty, and there were no jokes now to ease the pain of it. He turned toward the door to leave the balcony and Forest moaned.

Concerned, Chris turned back to him. But he was dead. Of course, he was dead. He was undead. He shambled slowly to his feet, naked face making that sound that was so familiar now. So awful and familiar.

Chris set the sniper rifle down and drew his knife. Forest lumbered toward him. He said, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Forest? I'm sorry."

The corpse of Forest Speyer lunged for him and Chris caught his throat, made a sound of regret, and drove his combat knife into the back of his head. Forest collapsed against him, bleeding on his uniform. Chris sunk to his knees, holding the body.

The body.

The dead body.

He made a sound again. He knew he was holding a corpse. He knew it. He held on for a long moment, breathing. Forest slid down his front and onto his face on the wrought iron beneath them. He had a tattoo of their STARS badge at the base of his skull beneath his oily, thin, overly long hair. That stupid mullet of his was something else.

Chris stayed kneeling beside him. This is what it looked like to lose everyone. To wonder into a nightmare and watch it all fall apart. He was pushing on. He was pushing through. He was trying so hard to laugh and move and breath and live.

And they were dying. They were all dying. They were dying in this mansion. In this place. In this hellhole. How long before it was Jill? Rebecca? Him?

He glanced down at his dead best friend.

How long before someone put a knife in his head to give him peace? Would anyone be left alive to offer him that? Or would he shamble around in the bowels of this infected freakshow until he simply…rotted away?

In his head, he heard Forest answer the question, "I gotcha BACK, Reeddddfielllldd!"

The grief choked him. It nearly killed him. It swelled up around him to obliterate his conscious thought. It arrowed into his body and brought about a need for revenge so swift, so deep, and so painful that it stole his breath. It hollowed him out and left justice in its place.

He was going to burn this place to the ground and piss on the ashes.

He was going to find the man responsible and destroy him.

He was going to get up and go do that…right now. Right…now.

The body of Forest Speyer was still warm beside him. And he didn't rise to help. He didn't rise at all. Because he had a knife in the back of his head.

And Chris had one in his heart.

The grief came out of his mouth in a quiet moan.

And Chris Redfield put his face in his hands and broke, crying softly there on the wrought iron balcony beside the body of his buddy, while the crickets chirped and the crows cawed out their need to devour what was left of those left behind.


	14. Chapter 14

+Author's note:

So the long night draws to a close. We see the betrayal circle back here. We see the end of the Spencer Mansion. We see truth. And we find ourselves one step closer to all that is yet to be. We'll see the loss of those that mean something start to push our wise cracking hero toward his inevitable journey to become the man hell bent on stopping bioterror.

We'll touch, briefly, on Jill and the direction I will steer her. I've set her up as Wesker's protege here. His betrayal will have to hurt her and scar her and leave her broken for a moment. Coupled with her disconnection from her "guy", it will explain why she'll stay behind when Chris would leave.

Remember this is action so there isn't alot of time to go into the emotional yet. I'll tackle the icky love stuff more in the next few chapters (ahah)

Thank you, as always, for the input on this story. I love it!

Slainte.

….

XIV: A Monster In Chains

:::::::::::::Fourteen:::::::::::::

Jill leapt off at the base of the ladder. She was surrounded by water on a narrow walkway now that circled a massive room. She glanced around, listening to the rushing and rolling of it. Her boots clanged over the metal as she moved to the only door on the metal walk way.

She glanced over the railing into the water as she moved. It was dark and impossible to see into the fathomless depths. She opened the door easily enough and stepped into a tiny room. There was a computer to one side and a MASSIVE root structure before her. It had over grown here. It was taking over the whole room. She felt like Tarzan in the jungle based on all the overgrowth. It was bowing the structural integrity of the room.

The glass wall beside her gave the viewer a nice look into the water. But again, the darkness from the lack of lighting showed nothing to the naked eye. Jill studied the root of the plant, searching for a place to dump the chemical Rebecca had given her.

There was trough at the base, close to the main fat stem, that seemed to be offering sustenance to the eager goliath it supported. Jill glanced over at the computer and moved to tap some keys. It clicked on, surprising her. It was recently used, clearly, based on what was on the screen. She clicked through the data.

It was monster data. It was scientist data. It was nerd stuff about lizard men and sharks and plants and…them. She froze, reading the files on it. Her. Barry. Chris. Rebecca. There was so much information on them. Someone…had been studying them.

Something cold shifted in her chest.

She eyed the data and didn't notice the creeping along the floor at her feet. Something snaked her ankle just as she clicked the keys to see the login name of the person who'd been here. She scrolled down, anticipating the name of the traitor amongst them…and she was jerked off her feet.

It was so fast. So fast. She was lifted off her feet and dangling upside down. It stole her breath. The plant smashed one of its massive roots into the computer and obliterated it with a burst of metal, spark of fire, and clatter of broken glass. Jill felt it shake her around above it, waving her madly as she dangled. She smashed into the wall, felt dizzy from it, and it threw her away.

Airborne, she crashed into the broken computer, rolled and pushed off at a run. She popped the top on the poison, ducked under a flailing root, and dumped the shit right into the trough at its base. It tried to knock her down and she rolled, missing the smash of another tentacle. It smashed into the ground where she'd been.

The poison kicked in quickly. It weakened it. It tossed its limb in fear and anger now. It was wild, throwing those massive tentacles around in desperate death throws. But it didn't die. Not exactly. It grabbed her and coiled around her like the snake had. It looped, looped, looped and stole her breath. She jerked, gasping, and felt the world go dark at the corners for the second time in one day.

The door burst open and in came Barry Burton. He shouted, rotated, and fire WHOOSHED out of his hands like a magician. He SPEWED fire at it, shouting. No…wait…the flamethrower in his hands was spewing. It struck the plant and set it ablaze. The world was suddenly burning as she was jerked clean and the fled the fire before it consumed them both.

She slammed the door to the room, they hurried toward the ladder they'd both come down on….and the walkway shifted, groaning with a metallic sound. Jill watched, in horror, as something leapt…flying…out of the water in the tank beside them.

She screamed. Barry ducked. And JAWS, rotting and roaring, landed on the walk way in front of them. Barry was thrown sideways into the water. Jill held on and slid over, inches closer to death.

The enormous shark belly flopped toward her, fast, so fast. She scuttled backward, slipping in the water, crying out. It leaped on her and knocked her to the floor while she fled. She went onto her back, threw up her arms, and felt those rows of teeth dive for her face.

Her knife drove into its oozing nostril, she scented copper, she felt fear ERUPT out of her in a blood curdling battle call. Her knife in its nose brought it up short from eating her face off. It reared back and Jill jerked the shotgun up where it was wedged between their pressing bodies. She shoved it under the roaring chin and pulled the trigger. The heavy round blew its face apart in a steaming wash of blood and horror. It obliterated that face and left a smoking, bleeding, bursting mess behind.

The body collapsed atop her, pinning her to the walkway. She heard movement and panicked, picturing another one coming for her. But Barry dragged her out from beneath the slimy, rubbery corpse and pulled her clear.

"You ok!?"

He shouted it. She realized he was bleeding from his left ear. Concerned, she touched him and he backed off, shaking his head. "It's ok. I hit the wall. I'm ok. Let's get out of here!"

They ran for the ladder. She was halfway up when they heard another one flop onto the landing. She threw herself up into the room above and reached down to help him clear. She watched it dive for his legs and miss by inches.

Shouting, she slammed the hatch down on the ladder, sealing it in.

Rebecca stood staring at them, wide eyed and frightened.

Jill said, softly, while Barry lay on the floor relearning to breathe, "The plant didn't have anything."

But Rebecca lifted her hands to show a small card key. "It was tangled in the dead plant with a guy in a lab coat. It's an access key for an elevator."

And Jill collapsed onto her back beside Barry to find a way to breathe.

Rebecca, above them, whispered, "There's an elevator off the kitchens on the main floor of the mansion."

The communicator on Rebecca's vest crackled, just once, and they heard it. They heard his voice. Their long lost captain, "...repeat…" Static and hissing. "…MONSTER IN CHAINS….over."

And the three of them took a moment to gather their resolve to keep going.

…

Chris paused in the foyer, typing his name on the type writer there.

He held Forest's dog tags in his grip, rolling them. He'd cleared the top floor without much luck. There were pieces everywhere, clues, things that Nancy Drew could have assembled. But he was just left with more questions.

Where was the lab? What was in the lab? Who was the person responsible for the infection that ran rampant around the mansion? Where were Jill and Rebecca? Was anyone else alive? Where was Barry? Where was the rest of Bravo team?

Where was Wesker?

The door on the landing opened and Chris aimed down his arm at it. But the answer to three of those questions emerged. Barry and Jill and Rebecca emerged and Chris lowered his pistol.

Rebecca hurried down the stairs toward him. "Are you ok?"

Chris nodded, silently.

Jill studied his face as she came down the stairs. She looked worse, clearly. She was soaked and covered in blood, and her beret looked less than pleasant. She looked bedraggled and harried and exhausted.

But Chris?

He looked half dead.

His eyes were haunted. His uniform was soaked in blood on the shoulder. She glanced at his hand, curled so tightly around something. And she saw the chain dangling there.

Her eyes lifted to his face. And she saw that too now. The grief. It was plastered on him. It was in the pale tint of his skin, in the puffiness of his eyes. She stopped and met his look. The pain clawed at her throat.

She whispered, "Who?"

And he answered, gruffly, "It doesn't matter. It's done."

He turned away from her.

Barry and Rebecca were moving toward the right side of the mansion. Jill moved forward and didn't wait. She slipped her arms around him from behind.

Chris froze in her arms. She put her cheek against his dirty back and held him. The pain of it clawed up his chest and tried to spill out of him. He shook his head, denying her. He unlooped her arms and stepped away.

Jill shifted again, "Who Chris?"

He dropped the dog tags on the ground and Jill bent to pick them up. She read them and rose. The tears sprang in her eyes. She looked at him and hurt for him. She hurt. He looked so stoic, he looked so raw. He looked so broken.

She breathed his name. She moved into him and he tried to back off. She shook her head and took his face. He resisted and she pressed their foreheads together.

"Don't," She whispered, "Don't pull away. Don't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Chris made some sound and relented. He grabbed her shoulder holster in his fists and leaned into her. Jill felt the wet tears on her cheeks. "He was a good man."

It nearly broke him. He made some sound. She swept her thumbs over his cheeks to take away the two fat little tears that broke free. With sympathy, she remarked, "We'll make it right, Chris. We'll set it right."

He shook his head and stepped away. He swiped the heel of his hand over his cheek and rubbed the back of his neck. "Can't make it right," His voice was hoarse from tears but he didn't let anymore of them go, "But we can make them pay. What did you find out?"

Wanting to hold him more and knowing the timing was wrong, Jill said, "We have a card key. We'll head down there and see what we find. Chris…."

He turned back to her as they reached the kitchen where Barry and Rebecca waited. Jill studied his face. There was no humor there now. No light. He was so dark. He was so sad. Her guy. He was so sad.

She couldn't stand there and watch it kill him. But he had to know. "Someone was watching us. Someone was doing this…I think…to bring us here. On purpose. I think someone did this on purpose."

"You're saying someone lured us here and killed all these people…for what?"

The derision in his voice. He couldn't believe someone would be that awful. Didn't he understand what was happening here? They were being played. They were being manipulated like chess pieces. They were being pushed into a trap of some kind.

The question was…why?

They emerged into the stairwell and found the elevator…

And it was only Rebecca waiting for them there.

Chris blinked, "Where's Barry?"

Rebecca was watching them with wide eyes. "He said something about Wesker. He said he had to find Wesker. He just…took off."

Jill felt that shiver in her stomach again. She turned her eyes to Chris. His face didn't echo it back. Of course not. Chris was so good. He'd never believe someone so close would be capable of betraying them. Never.

And not Barry.

Chris and Barry were old friends. Friends from the service. Buddies. Pals. Compadres. They were Forest and Chris over twenty years of friendship. Barry would never betray Chris.

Barry would never do that.

The shiver in her belly said otherwise.

They stepped into the elevator. It creaked and groaned. It was more of an old fashioned lift then an elevator. It lowered with a rickety clunk of sound. It sounded vaguely like train tracks – clack, clack, clack…clack, clack, clack…

The sounds filled the silence.

Rebecca studied the two of them. There was something in Chris' eyes now. There was some level of pain or grief that was haunting him. It was bad enough he was staying away from Jill. Jill looked wounded by his separation from her. Rebecca was into Chris.

There was no getting around that. She was into him. It was inappropriate to consider while they were ass deep in conspiracy and seeking fast. But she figured it would distract her from the horrors they'd seen to just…think about him. He never looked at her like that. He never looked anywhere like that…except for Jill. He looked at Jill in a way Rebecca had never been looked at.

She wondered if she'd die waiting for him to look at her like that.

The elevator chugged and lowered with a grinding thump to the floor. The three of them stood in a semi-circle looking out at the weeping, seeping, stagnant walls of the cave that spilled empty, cavernous, and damp before them. The rampant rolling smell of musty water infiltrated the nostrils with a noxious assault.

The first question that came to mind was really rather simple: Why was there a watery cave that required an elevator to reach it beneath the kitchen of the mansion? What kind of fucking place was this? What kind of conspiracy laden bullshit was it that required one to place a cave adjacent to a laboratory? What science fiction horror show was playing in their own backyard? Didn't they understand that people were having barbecues and jumping in sprinklers miles away from where they were cooking up death in beakers like twisted drug dealers?

Who was the mastermind behind this Steven King style shit show?

Chris didn't make a joke. He didn't make a snarky comment. He just got off the elevator.

Hurt, afraid, Jill followed him.

The cave was so cool, almost cold. A stalactite brushed against her shoulder as they moved. Rebecca stuck close to her side. They were both very aware that Chris was not himself. The change was startling and somewhat alarming.

The cave came to a split. A fork in the road awaited them. Jill glanced down the left way. Chris glanced right. She said, softly, "We should split up right?"

Rebecca hesitated.

Chris looked down both tunnels. The silence, it was so loud. How could silence be loud? It was, when you were with a man who was so broken. Where was his humor? Where was his light? Who was this man who traveled with them now, a shadow of his former self? This nightmare had done more than murder their friends….it had killed Chris Redfield in ways that were still unclear. He was walking, he was talking, his body was there…but what made him Chris? That…was dead or dying…or on life support.

Jill was more afraid of that than any monster they'd yet found to battle.

Finally, he spoke, "Stay together. Don't go TOO far. Stay close enough to hear each other."

He'd just put Rebecca and Jill together again. They glanced at each other. Jill went to say something and a rattling sound drew their attention. They turned back the way they'd come.

Standing in the opening to the tunnel was something that might have been human once. It was human in size and skinny with a hunched back and filthy clothes on its shambling body. Its face was rotted naked bone and papyrus like flesh. Scraggly black hair trailed filthy and greasy down its skeletal back. Its hands were secured in a heavy square cement restraint, binding them before it like handcuffs. Its ankles were encased in steels cuffs with the remnants of broken chains that dragged noisily, almost musically, over the slick rock beneath it. Gripped in one hand, a chain dangled and something trailed into the darkness on the chain behind it.

It saw them and stood there, eyeing them.

Rebecca made a small sound and finally spoke, "….are you ok?"

And the thing moaned. It moaned so pitifully. It moaned and moved toward them. And it didn't move slow. It moved hungrily. And the chain in its hand was revealed as it did.

Heads. It had heads on the chain. It had human heads impaled on the metal rings. The eyes were open, the mouths feasting on the rusting length of it. The thing had taken heads…as trophies? And bound them to the chain.

Jill whispered, "Jesus Christ."

And the thing swung the chain with the heads at them.

Rebecca shouted and rolled. Jill dove left. Chris ducked and went right. They split apart and ran down the tunnels. Jill was alone as Rebecca followed Chris.

Chris and Rebecca ducked and moved swiftly as the cave narrowed and wound. They couldn't stop to wait for Jill, they just moved. When it split again, they hurried down the right tunnel without looking back. There was no way to know which of them was being pursued by the monster in chains.

They ran around a bend and slid to a stop. Rebecca bumped into Chris' back and spilled onto her butt on the floor behind him. And Chris stood facing Enrico Marini, the Bravo team captain. He was slumped on the floor, holding his stomach. He was bleeding badly and breathing hard. He also had his pistol aimed at Chris.

Chris lifted his hands to show himself unarmed.

Enrico kept the gun on him.

He coughed and blood seeped from the corner of his mouth. "…come to finish me off?"

Chris couldn't answer because Rebecca let out a shout of surprise and hurried around him. Enrico, seeing her, lowered his gun as she rushed to his side and slid on the wet ground. She put her hand over his stomach to put pressure on his wound.

Something like shock was on his face as she looked at her. "Rebecca…you're alive."

Rebecca nodded, opening her first aid pack to gather what she needed. "I am. I am. Thanks to Chris and Jill. They found me after I got here. You made it too."

Enrico glanced at Chris as Rebecca started patching him up. He held gazes with the alpha team point man. Redfield was a good man. He was having trouble believing he might be a traitor. If he was…why was he protecting Rebecca? Enrico knew who the traitor was. He knew it. He just didn't know if Redfield was in it with him.

He spoke, softly now, "Umbrella planted a traitor in STARS. They put them there to lead us here and to…" He coughed, cringing in pain.

Rebecca soothed him, rubbing his arm.

"…to…stop us if we figured it out. If we got too far. If we learned too much." He glanced up at Chris' stoic countenance. "We'll never get out of here. We're done. If you keep going down this way…there's nothing there to save you. Or us. We are fucked."

Rebecca shook her head, smoothing his hair back. "Shh. You're scared. You're talking crazy. We'll get out of here. We'll make it. Just breathe."

Chris held his glassy and desperate gaze. "Tell me what you know."

Enrico nodded, shifting on the wall. "I found files. Lots of files. They talked about infection, experimentation. They mentioned names…names of people in Raccoon City. At first, I didn't believe it…but then I found the memo. A memo to the STARS office. It detailed the plan to use us as guinea pigs for biological weapon testing. We're in their playground, Chris. We're the rats here. And what's worse? We followed the pied piper right to our own deaths."

Chris knelt now, watching his face eagerly. "Who is it, Enrico? Who's the traitor?"

Enrico grabbed his hand and held it, hard. "It's C—"

The sound of the gun erupting scared them all. The muzzle flashed in the darkness. Rebecca cried out and threw up her arm. Chris ducked. But they weren't the target.

The target was Enrico Marini.

And he was dead.

Dead.

Shot between the eyes.

His gaze stared emptily at the wall before him. Rebecca made a sound of horror and kept staring at him. She made a keen of sound.

Chris was already running away. He was chasing the gun men. He was running hard and fast. But it was a fruitless endeavor. He ran back into the tunnel where they'd come from and found nothing. No one. Not a trail, not a sound, nothing.

He spun, spun, spun and listened. He listened for anything. A sound, a sign, a slap of boots…but there was nothing but silence. With a cry of rage, he turned down the other tunnel and started running toward where Jill had gone.

Jill was trying to avoid the monster in chains. It had come after her down the slick tunnel. She crept slowly and quietly around a dark corner. The room opened onto a platform. There were columns on four sides of it and a sarcophagus sitting like a stone tribute in the center. Chains erupted out of the top of the sarcophagus and attached to the top of the columns.

Jill crept forward and heard a noise behind her. She turned and came face to face with Captain Wesker. Shocked, Jill stumbled a little. His hand shot out to steady her before she spilled over the side of the platform into the endless darkness beneath it.

"Captain!"

His dark glasses in place, Wesker looked…pristine. He looked clean and well kept. He looked unruffled, calm, and cucumber cool. Seeing him that way eased back some of her fear.

"Jill…I'm glad to see you."

"Captain Wesker…where did you go? We've been looking for you."

Wesker moved with her onto the platform. They moved toward the sarcophagus together. He answered, quietly, "I was tracking down the traitor. You're aware there is one amongst us?"

"I am. I am. I think…Captain? I think it might be Barry."

Curious, Wesker studied her face. And then he did something so out of character for him. He lifted his hand and brushed at a smudge of dirt on her cheek. Jill froze, watching him. A hard man to know on a good day, what was that on his face now? Concern? Was it regret?

What was that?

"Jill…I chose Barry. I chose him. If he has betrayed us…it means I chose poorly. It means I led us here to die."

It WAS regret. Wesker was sorry. He was sorry for it. It was written all over his face. He was grieving the men who'd died under his command. Of course, he was. He wasn't a monster. He was a leader. And he'd led his men to death.

Jill laid her hand over his on her cheek and saw the echo of surprise on his face. She comforted him, gently. She hated seeing him struggling with the guilt of it. An odd man, he was a good leader. He would feel the pain of Barry's betrayal and the loss of his men like this. Creepy, she'd once thought. But he wasn't. He was just deep and fathomless. Professional. And she wanted him to stay strong for them. Having him back would rally their morale and bring back the hope. "Sir…it's not your fault. If Barry is working as a spy for Umbrella…it's not your fault."

Wesker relaxed his hand against her face. His palm curved against her porcelain cheek. He felt it again, that flicker of wanting to own her. It shivered in his empty heart like the echoes of what he might have been if he'd ever been a mere mortal man.

In a way, there was that flicker of something human here. Attraction? It was, in a way. It was attraction to her in a way that interested him. Not sexual. Not exactly. Objectively, her beauty was of the simple and angelic variety. But it was that swell of power in her. Untested, untried. It waited to be cultivated and brought to the surface. She was a caterpillar and he wanted to see her emerge a butterfly. The time here was so limited. The truth would kill that devotion on her face. It would kill her or destroy her and leave her husk behind. He wanted the husk, in a way, to own the soul that bound it…yes….but he was fascinated by the strength of the woman that loved so fully, fought so perfectly, and yearned for power. Power would always be what attracted him. Testing the bonds of it, he curled his fingers behind her head and drew her forward.

Jill felt her eyes flare in surprise. She didn't resist. She was too surprised to resist. The platform shivered. The timing here was so wrong. The world felt wrong. The look on his face? Was it simply all the regret and the pain of the worst night of their lives?

His other hand came up to touch the matching side of her face. His gun was cool against her skin. She was transfixed by his sunglasses as he lowered his mouth and pressed it to hers. Her hands, one holding her pistol, the other touching his on her face…trembled.

It was butterfly soft. It was so gentle. Captain Wesker…was kissing her. It didn't even feel sexual. It felt…possessive? It felt something. She blinked and her beret slipped a little on her hair.

"Captain?"

Wesker released her gently. She turned her head and Chris was standing there at the mouth of the cave. Oh god, she thought desperately, his face. His FACE. It was somewhere between relief to see Wesker and pain. Pain. How did she explain what he had seen here?

How did she explain it to herself?

Wesker shifted and moved with aplomb. His gun came up. Jill made a sound of shock but she didn't need to warn him. Because...somehow Chris was already standing there with his gun trained on his Captain.

Holy shit.

Would he shoot another man for kissing her?

That look on his face. Who was the man that stood there holding the pair of them in his sights?

Wesker said, commandingly, "DUCK!"

And Chris ducked. Just like that. He ducked.

Wesker fired over his head.

The monster in chains moaned as the bullet smashed into its ugly face. Chris stumbled onto the platform. Wesker grabbed his uniform and pulled him up beside him.

"Bullets do nothing more than distract it. Get the sarcophagus open."

Jill ran toward the stone lid and started pushing. But it was locked tight. She glanced up at the chains on the top and followed the lines of them to the columns.

"Chris!" She called for him and ran to the closest column. She started pushing at it. Seeing the plan, Chris ran to take her place. He said, harshly as his biceps bulged and he shoved his weight to it, "Cover me. And keep that thing off me."

Wesker nodded and Jill echoed it.

They moved to flank the monster in chains. It whipped the chain of heads at her and Jill rolled, skidding out and grabbing the column beside her. She used it to propel herself up and swing in a semi-circle. Her feet hit it full body and drove it back. The monster moaned and staggered.

Wesker threw a back kick at it and sent it to one side. Jill dropped to one hand to buffalo kick it and Wesker jerked the chain of heads from its hands. It moaned and grabbed his face. It lifted him in the air while he kicked uselessly.

Jill hefted the chain of heads, reared her arm back, and smacked it clean in the ugly face. It dropped Wesker, moaning so loudly it shook the room. There was a pop of metal and the first chain on the sarcophagus burst free as Chris shoved the column over the platform and into the darkness.

He ran to the next and Jill snaked the chain of heads at the thing again. It caught the chain and jerked, throwing Jill to her face on the platform. It stomped toward her back and Jill rolled, missing its foot by inches. Wesker kicked it in the back and it threw its bound arms at him. It hit him full body and threw him out.

Jill shouted, Wesker hit the edge of the platform and rolled off.

"NO!"

He was dangling by his hands. Jill grabbed his wrists and started pulling him up. The monster in chains brought the huge cement block that bound her hands down toward Jill as she crouched. Wesker shouted her name, Jill turned, and watched it fall at her face.

Chris kicked the monster so hard it was tossed to its side. Jill felt those hands pass an inch from her face as it went down. She glanced at him but he was already shoving at the column again.

Jill kept trying to help Wesker back up and the monster in chains rose again. It lifted its arms to bring them down again and the next chain snapped off the sarcophagus. Chris rushed at the monster, Jill shouted in horror, and he tackled it full body.

He caught it around the waist and pushed. He pushed it. She watched him grunt, heard him shout, watched him drive his boots into the platform and just…shove. He just shoved it.

Wesker was far enough up now that he climbed to his feet. Jill shouted, "Chris!"

And Chris gave one final shove at the monster in chains. It teetered on the platform and gave a desperate smash of its arms. It caught him broadside and threw him away from it. Chris flew back and hit the sarcophagus. His whole body smashed into it and the lid tilted, slid, and tumbled free.

The monster in chains stopped. It just…stopped. It stopped, tilted its ugly head, and looked into the stone depths. A skeletal piles of bones remained in it. The monster looked at it so…sadly? So forlornly. And it lifted its face and roared, "Moo…ther….!"

It turned. Wesker grabbed Jill to push her behind him and it leaped. It just leaped off the side of the platform into the darkness below.

Jill shifted and ran to Chris where he lay curled against the stone with the corpse of the monster's mother in it. She knelt, touching his face. He…shifted away from her.

Jill froze, feeling the rejection of it in her bones.

He grabbed the edge of the coffin and pulled himself up.

Jill remained kneeling for a moment and finally stood.

Wesker stepped up beside him as Chris reached into the coffin…and drew out the matching brother of the piece they'd found in the bloody coffin in the crypt.

Wesker and Chris stared at each other for a long moment.

Chris said, "This opens the gate in the foyer."

Wesker nodded, watching him. What was it on that face? Redfield was looking at him with something almost shrewd in that once eager gaze. What did he see? Was it the sight of Jill Valentine kissing his Captain? And interesting thing to feel something that wasn't exactly jealousy from him.

What was it?

Betrayal.

In more ways than one.

Finally, Wesker spoke, "I need to find Barry. I want the rest of you to finish checking out the mansion. Go through that gate. Find the answers. There's a stairwell down the second tunnel here as you leave. It will take you to a cottage in the forest. Head back toward the mansion."

Wesker turned and passed by Jill. He stopped at the tunnel. "If you find Barry, silence him. Before he ends you both. And remember…traitors have a way of lying to suit their needs. Be prepared for any story he might tell that will prolong his life."

And he was gone.

Jill turned to Chris. "What is it?"

His face. His face hurt her. He looked at her like she was someone he didn't know. He moved toward the tunnel and she hurried after him.

"Enrico is dead. The traitor killed him. I chased him but couldn't find him."

Jill grabbed his arm to halt him. He glanced at her hand and back at her face. She held on, earnestly. "He's dead?"

"Yeah. Cold blood. They shot him right over my shoulder. Right there." He glanced at her eyes, "While you stood there sucking face with our Captain."

He shook her hand off his arm and started down the tunnel.

Jill remained, hand outstretched. Finally, she curled her fingers into a fist and followed him.

His face, she thought again, there was nothing of her guy on that face. His face said...maybe she was the traitor. Jill felt the shiver of that in her bones. Did he think she was the traitor?

...or that Wesker was?

Rebecca met them halfway toward the stairwell Wesker had spoken about. They moved together up the stairs and climbed a small ladder. At the top, the ladder opened to a tiny cabin.

The three of them inspected the tiny bed and the desk. There was a journal tucked under the mattress and letters on the desk.

Chris opened the journal to read through the entries.

Nov. 14, 1967

I feel dizzy after that shot they gave me. I don't see Mom. Where did they take her? She promised that we would escape together. Did she escape alone and leave me behind?

Nov. 15, 1967

I found Mom. We ate together. I was very she was a fake. Not my real Mom. Same face but different to find Mom. Have to give face back to mother.

I got Mom's face back. Nobody can have my Mom except me. I attach her face to me so she doesn't go away. Because Mom sad when I meet her without her face.

Nov. 17, 19 7

from inside box, scent of mommy. maybe true mother there. stone box hard. It hurt. steel rope in the way. can't see mother becuz 4 stones.

19

dadddy atached first momm atached scond

iNside reD and sLimy whiTe and haRd

not true moM wheRe

dunno dadd found mum again

when atachd momMy she moved no more she screaming

why? Jst want to b with her

4

mom where?

I mis you

A letter was tucked into the back of the sad, horrible, enlightening journal. It made his chest heavy to read it. A poor frightened girl looking for her mother. The experiments she must have been privy to. The horror she must have seen. A small girl with no hope. Turning into something still desperately searching for its mother.

The letter was clearly the last thing she'd had from her mother. It read:

To my Lisa,

Day by day I can feel my consciousness drifting further away. The shots given to me by men in white clothes made some of mommy's itching go away. Today they gave me another shot saying it was "nutrition".

When they give me the shots mommy can think straight, but mommy's shocked and sad because mommy's unable to think of you all the time.

Mommy's afraid. Afraid of forgetting everything, especially the memories of you and daddy... What your faces look like, how we used to be together... They're all starting to disappear into somewhere dark in my mind.

Oh Lisa, I wish I could touch your face and hold you in my arms right now, so that I can hold on to our wonderful memories of you and daddy.

Lisa we can't stay here any longer, We have to escape!

Listen to me Lisa. Our chance to escape is the next time when we go to that lab together. We'll both pretend that we are both unconscious and when that man in white clothes is off guard that will be our chance.

When we're on the outside, let's look for daddy together. Okay sweetie? Be strong, Lisa.

Nov. 13, 1967

Jessica Trevor

Chris glanced over at Rebecca as she leafed through the papers on the desk. He offered her the journal so she could read it. He rose from the bed where he'd been sitting and moved toward the door of the cabin.

"That monster in chains...used to be someone's daughter. It used to be someone's little girl...they kept her here for YEARS to turn her into that..."

Jill held his gaze for a moment. He looked so jaded. This night had ripped back the curtain on the world for him. He was seeing the horror of what humans did when they hungered power. They all were. She wondered why it was so much harder for Chris. Was it coming from a good family? Was it having such a big, strong, trusting heart? Was it walking in a place infested with horror and knowing someone close to them had opened the door and let it in?

He didn't look broken, not exactly, now? Now he looked resolute. He looked cold. And he looked empty.

They were so quiet. They were all so quiet as they opened the door to step out into the rain. The forest closed around them with a whistling, windy embrace. It soaked them from head to toe as they cleared as well as they could in the pouring mess of it and ran toward the mansion in the distance.

They burst through the garden door and into the foyer, clearing the empty room for safety before they moved down the stairs. Jill moved to type their names on the typewriter. He snorted with derision and waved at her.

"Don't bother. Who the fuck is left at this point?"

Jill glanced at Rebecca. The girl medic was watching her with those owl eyes. They both knew he wasn't doing well. He was somewhere dark and scary.

He moved toward the back of the foyer and put the disks into the holes. They clicked and the gate opened to reveal the dark stairwell. Chris said, softly, "Whatever is down here…I'm going to use it to end Umbrella. I'm going to end them. They used people like guinea pigs. That girl back there? She was someone's kid. Some kid that they just pumped full of shit and mutated. For what? Why? Because they wanted to make weapons to kill people. They dragged us here to this place…they killed everyone. They killed us one by one like rats…like science experiments…and Barry? Barry, my friend, my pal…he helped them."

Jill said nothing, feeling the sting of his earlier rejection in her blood. She wanted to hold him. She wanted to have him hold her. She wanted to take him and run away and never look back. But his face...it said maybe she was the traitor...and it break her fucking heart.

Rebecca touched his arm. And his eyes slid to her face.

"Let's find what we need to end them. Let's find it. It's all we can do."

He nodded and moved down the stairs.

Jill and Rebecca followed, quietly and discreetly. They reached the bottom of the stairwell and Chris was already down the hallway before them. This was clearly the lab they'd heard so much about it. It was industrial and had doors of steal with keycard access needed to get in. The walls were metal and made one feel like they'd stepped into a tin can.

There was a medicinal smell that alerted the nose to the horrors of formaldehyde and preservation of flesh. Lab coats were strung on one wall as they moved. The first door to the left was slightly ajar.

Jill eased it open and moved in to clear the room.

Rebecca followed behind Chris a little and tried to slow him down as he moved.

Jill was watching a slide show in the tiny room where she had arrived. It was playing on the wall like someone had set up a show for her. The room was a media conference room of some kind. It was filled with slides and video tapes and papers. The long table where she stood was throwing images on the wall.

The first was the mansion. It was clearly the early days of construction. The second showed eager scientists waving and flashing grins as they were caught by the person taking snap shots. The third was a pale faced man with blonde hair looking harried and distraught. The fourth showed a family with grins and arms around each other. The raggedy clothes of the pre-teen girl between the smiling parents were the same as the monster in chains. One final slide popped up and showed the whole crew of scientists standing together for a group shot. They were all waving and doing bunny ears and looking silly and happy.

Jill started to turn away from the slid show and something caught her eye.

She rolled her eyes to the bottom right of the photo. The harried pale faced blonde man was there. He looked less upset though. He was grinning and his arm was around -

Jill spun back from the slide show, her heart rapidly pounding in her chest. Surely not. Surely she was wrong.

But a voice said, "I'm so sorry."

And she gasped as Barry Burton brought the butt of his pistol down on her temple.

Down the hallway, Rebecca grabbed Chris' arm to bring him to a halt. He turned to give her angry eyes. "Stop…wait for Jill."

And Chris said, with a laugh, "Fuck Jill. She can wait for Wesker."

He opened the door beside them and moved inside with his pistol aimed.

The room was empty save for a device console to one side…and a huge tank in the middle. It was enormous and the thing inside the goop it contained was the same. It was man, or pretended to be one. It was sexless like a Ken doll and sported a pulsing heart on its massive chest. It was ten feet tall and had arm with one clawed and as long as a human leg on its massive fist. It's face was nearly human and smooth save for the veins that bulged and pulsed on its slick forehead. The face had split to expose muscle and bone beneath the torn tissue. Bulbous masses covered its back and shoulders on flesh turning gray with necrosis and infection.

Rebecca made a sound of horror. Chris moved toward the tank and Wesker walked around from behind it.

Chris paused. Rebecca froze.

Wesker studied him from across the short distance. And he spoke now, quietly, "When did you figure out it was me?"

Rebecca jumped in surprise.

Chris answered him, voice cool and collected, "Rebecca found files. One of the names was Albert. Not a lot to go on, I'll admit. But then you disappeared. Barry started acting nervous and frightened. And you show up again, just in time to lay your hands on Jill – a woman you once referred to as willing to fuck her way to promotion- to get her to turn a cheek to where the fuck you've been all night. The fact that you're MIA for most of what's happening here. None of that is like you. You show up, toss out orders, and you skitter off again. It stinks like a weeks worth of unwashed ball sack. I knew you were dirty. I knew it. You lay the trail to Barry, clever, but pointless. I know he's working with you…I just can't figure out why."

Wesker studied him in the quiet room. He shifted where he stood and turned toward the tyrant tank. He caressed it, almost lovingly.

"I said I had his family. He'll do anything I say to protect him. That's the thing about humans – so many ways to manipulate them. Naturally, I lied. But he doesn't know that. Feelings will always get you killed, Chris. I kept trying to teach you that. Jill? She was starting to learn it. She'll keep on learning it. It's why I kissed her...it's why I kept her."

Chris paused and lowered the gun he'd started to raise on his own traitorous Captain.

"What did you say?"

Wesker eyed him. "I have her. Surely you know that. I took her. I'd always planned to take her, of course. If she didn't come to me on her own. But you were sniffing too close. You were too smart. I saw it when you put together the witches and when you pieced together the book of shadows. I knew…you had the brains I wanted. But that heart of yours…." Wesker caressed the tank again and moved to the console.

Chris watched him, breathing.

"Your heart will get you killed, Chris. It's your weakness. As the girl you chase is your weakness. She's stronger than you. And will always be stronger. She doesn't bleed and die. She bleeds and rises. You will let the pain take you down and destroy you. If I take her from you, here and now, will you ascend? Will you rise? I wonder." He turned back to them, "I wish I had time to discover how far you will go for her. But…the science demands I finish what I started here."

A sharp moment froze around them. Chris raised his gun but he was a fraction of a second too slow. Wesker fired from the hip and blasted Rebecca off her feet. She was thrown backward, sliding over the floor, smashing into the wall…and was still.

Chris' gun went off a second later and hit Wesker in the chest. The vest took the hit of it. It threw him backward against the console. But he kept his gun on Chris while it happened. The pain was immediate but it wouldn't kill him.

Rebecca? She was still on the ground. Still…still.

Chris hissed at him, "You son of a bitch! Drop the gun and let's end this."

Wesker eyed him. The sunglasses had been knocked askew by the bullet he'd taken. He slid this off his face now and set them on the console. He watched the other man like a predator. The flash of excitement on his face was enthralling in a way.

"You want to challenge me? Mano-a-mano? A dual? You aren't ready. You aren't even CLOSE to ready. You can't possibly know what I can do." Wesker studied the tank beside him. "Do you know the tyrant in this tank is one of kind? He had a less brilliant brother of course…but that one…was unfinished and raw. Only one in ten million hosts exposed to the T-Virus possesses the potential to mutate into a Tyrant. This is a unique characteristic carried over from the Progenitor virus's own genetic compatibility to certain subjects. Research shows something like ten percent of the total population will retain natural immunity to the T-Virus, even if directly exposed."

Wesker looked at the tyrant lovingly. "This one is perfect. He has a heart on his chest on the right side there. It's not Dextrocardia though…it's grafted to him. He needs it…to thrive. The parameters of his creation require the additional heart to pump blood and increase his abilities. Some creations require care to ascend, Chris. Some need to be coddled, others coaxed, still others pushed."

He eyed Chris again with those pale, pale eyes. "I wanted you to be my tyrant. You had the makings of greatness. You were exemplary. You were top of your class, dedicated, skilled…the best I've ever seen with a gun. Ever. What would you do with the virus in your blood? You would be limitless. But your human heart can't sustain you…it's weak. It beats for a girl that will never love you. A girl that will never be what you need. She's broken. She's flawed. She needs to ascend. I will graft another heart to her to give her the power to ascend. You? You have reached the end of your abilities, I'm afraid….or have you? It's time to find out."

Wesker held the gun on him. Chris watched him move to the console.

Chris glanced at the tank and back at his face. "Don't, Wesker. Don't. Give me Jill and turn yourself in. Now. This ends one of two ways: With you in chains or you in a body bag…your choice."

Wesker paused, watching him. "In chains you say? Like Lisa? The first human to show signs of tyrant mutation in human form. A brilliant thing really. She's mentally inferior, of course, which is the flaw in the tyrant program. They are…for lack of a subtle word…dumb. They can't do anything but take commands. And in the absence of that…they kill. Stripping away their power limiter could potentially make them berserk. The mess would be…unparalleled."

And apparently the idea of that mess enthralled him. Disgusted, Chris clicked the hammer on his gone.

"You so much as fart toward that console, I will give you a third eye as ugly as your megalomania."

Wesker laughed, softy. "Chris – you are a conquered people. Haven't you figured it out yet? I've gotten all I need from you. All that's left now is for you to show me what my tyrant can do."

Wesker hit the button on the console. Chris gun clicked empty as he fired. And the tank drained, spilling goo and liquid into the bottom. The tyrant opened its eyes. The glass cracked as it shifted.

Wesker grinned wolfishly at him. "I would have made you great Chris. Remember, you chose mediocrity…you chose love. And look where it's gotten you."

The tank exploded in a burst of glass and rain of sharp, glittering pieces. Chris threw his arm up to block his face but still felt them cut and sting where they struck. The tyrant leaped free, graceful and fast. Wesker looked at it with love…like a child with a puppy.

And he said, "Kill him."

The tyrant turned toward him. It studied him. Wesker smiled at it.

And the tyrant fed his betrayal back to him. It gored him on that massive claw while he gasped, gasped, and blood burst from his ruptured chest in a hot, steaming, red mess. It lifted him to eye level, bleeding and opening and closing his mouth like a landed fish, and roared in his face.

His creation had betrayed him.

It was the ultimate poetic justice. It was Frankenstein's monster. It was The Island of Doctor Moreau. It was the only way karma completed its circle. The tyrant flicked its claws and sent him to the floor to slide away in his own blood.

It turned back to Chris but he was gone.

And he'd taken Rebecca with him.

He raced into the hallway and the sound of something sharp and close split the air. It was loud and mechanical. It was all around them.

THE SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE HAS BEEN ACTIVATED. PLEASE EVACUATE ALL PERSONEL IMMEDIATELY. TOTAL DETONATION WILL OCCUR IN T-MINUS TEN MINUTES.

Horrified, Chris juggled Rebecca in his arms. She was alive, unconscious, but breathing. The vest had taken the hit. He needed to find Jill. He needed to get them out.

He didn't have any time to do either.

Panicked, terrified, Chris ran down the hallway. The door to the lab burst open and the tyrant ducked out, roaring. He kept on running. Rebecca was tucked against his chest and dead weight. She was small but he couldn't run forever holding her.

And he needed, needed, needed to find Jill. He shouted it now as he ran, "JILL!"

As if she'd hear him. As if she'd come running. He'd mentally punished her for standing in the circle of that traitor's arms. How could she be so blind to what he was? How could she let him touch her? How could she stand there and believe any of the lies he heaped on her? How much of "his" was she?

Chris roared it now, desperate to find her her, "JILLLL!"

She heard him. As Barry helped her up and opened the cage door where Wesker kept her. As they held eyes and she forgave him, just like that, for what he had done...because she knew now that Wesker must have been using him all along. As they heard the first loll of the self destruct sequence fire off...she HEARD him shouting for her.

And it healed something in her to hear it. They turned together and raced toward his voice.

The hallway dead ended to a stairwell. Chris raced toward it. He could hear the tyrant coming, so fast, so terribly fast. He was only human. He would NEVER out run it. Not carrying dead weight in his arms. There was no hope.

There was no Jill.

And there was no more time to find her.

He was almost to the stairs, almost there...and Jill and Barry burst out of a room beside him.

Chris nearly dropped Rebecca. He nearly threw up in relief. Her face was so thrilled to see him. What did his say? He wondered it as they wasted no time with hellos or pleasantries. They would be dead while they stood there making googoo eyes at each other.

Barry shouted, "COME ON! HURRY!"

They followed. They had no other choice but to follow.

They ran up the stairs, listening to the pound of the tyrant, to the roar of it, to the blare of the timer telling them how long it would be until they were dead. Dead.

DEAD.

At the top of the stairs, they burst through a door onto a rooftop. Barry ran to the far side and looked down. It was too far to jump. It was too far to even try.

Jill checked her pistol to find it had three bullets left.

Chris was breathing harsh and low. Rebecca had awoken now and he set her to her feet on the roof. He rasped out, hoarse and breathless, "It's Wesker. It's Wesker."

Jill nodded, "I know. I woke up in a cell. Barry put me there. I knew it was Wesker. I found a slide show with him on it. I didn't know. I can't believe it. All these people...why?"

Barry said, gently, "He has my family."

Chris met his eyes, "He doesn't. He lied. And he's dead. The tyrant gutted him. The fucking bastard. He was insane."

Rebecca whispered, "I met one like that. I met it. It's fast. It's mean. And it's deadly."

Chris grabbed her arm to shake her out of her fear. "How do we kill it, Rebecca?"

She answered, quietly, "Shoot that fucking heart on its chest."

Chris nodded and turned back. They lifted their guns. They heard the sound of the self destruct sequence informing them they had eight minutes left to live. And they heard the sound of a helicopter.

Jill looked at Chris with wide eyes. She grabbed his hand without thinking. He flipped it over and linked their fingers. And they both whispered, "Brad?"

The communicator hissed, "Guys? Is that you? I'm coming down to get you ok? I'm coming down there. I'm sorry! I FREAKED! I'm coming now."

The helicopter circled low. It was nearly to them.

And the door to the roof burst open.

The tyrant leaped onto the roof and shook it beneath them. They all stumbled. The helicopter lifted up quickly in a swirling circle. Brad's voice came back to them, "I can't touch down with that thing there! Get rid of it!"

Naturally.

Coward.

The self destruct sequence informed them they only had seven minutes left. Seven minutes until the worst night of their lives became a pyric memory. Chris lifted his pistol at it.

"Seven minutes," He called to it over the roar of the helicopter blades and the rush of wind. The sun had started to rise in the eastern sky, pink and perfect. The most brilliant spectator to their final stand, "….seven minutes is all I have to play with you."

And the tyrant threw back its head…and trumpeted its battle cry to the swirling dawn.


	15. Chapter 15

+Author's note:

This is where Chris and Jill will begin to really separate as lovers. To build their friendship and span the time, I have to see them grow apart to grow back together. They'll continue to chase Umbrella here in secret before we split them up to see Jill face the Nemesis and Chris chase the threads of corruption toward Paris. I've focused on Jill so much in this story. I'm going to turn the artistic eye to her counter point for a little bit here.

Chris will show his flaws here for the first time. As a man who has been, in this story, so utterly perfect it allows us to see his human side. His broken spirit, his aching heart, his need to feel anything but betrayal and loss. He'll make some mistakes and earn some distaste and potentially turn away the girl that loves him for the first real time here. A hero; he rises. A man; he falls.

Thank you, as always, for the input on this story. I love it!

Slainte.

….

XV: What Lies Beneath

:::::::::::::Fifteen:::::::::::::

The tyrant paced toward them twitching its head. Barry braced himself and Chris jerked his head at them. "Split up! Split its focus. It can't take us all out at once!"

Rebecca ran left. Jill went right. Barry, with his enormous Magnum, kept his central position. Chris nodded at him and Barry shot it, just like that, he shot it with his hand cannon.

The heavy round smashed into its pulsing heart on that chest and it stumbled, staggered, and somehow managed to look shocked. If a monster could feel anything, the tyrant felt it in that moment. But time seemed to slow down.

As it focused on Barry, Chris ran around to its back side to box it in. And they all unloaded on it from four sides with everything they had.

The tyrant leaped, it raced, it rolled and somehow missed being hit by too many rounds. It swept an arm out at Rebecca as she hit it square in the heart on its chest and hit her full body. She tried to roll but it lifted her and swatted her like a gnat.

She flew like a dart across the roof, curled around herself. Chris caught her just before she struck the wall and they smashed against it together. It stole his breath but it saved her a broken back or skull.

Jill ran dry on ammo and raced toward it.

Too late, Chris saw what she'd do.

"JILL!"

She spun through a front tuck and missed losing her head, she swept low and tried for its feet and had it staggering. It thrust those claws at her chest and she feinted, rolled passed it, and used the momentum to throw herself up onto its back.

Barry shot it again in the heart and it reared, roaring and threw up its unclawed arm to grab for the girl on its back. Jill drove her knife one handed into that pulsing heart and blood erupted in an arch from the shredded artery.

The blow was a good one but cost her. It grabbed her throat in its unclawed fist and jerked her off. It strangled her while she grabbed for her knife still embedded in that heart. Chris saw it throat back that clawed arm to drive it into her chest and ran. He just ran at it. He caught it in a full tackle from behind and it dropped Jill to grab for him instead.

Jill grabbed her knife and ripped it clear. It swatted at her, caught her face with the edge of its clawed hand, and sent her rolling. Barry stepped into its attack zone while it grabbed Chris with its unclawed fist and jerked him back by his hair. It went to impale him and Barry shot it, point blank range, in that gushing heart.

It roared as it threw Chris away and swatted Barry back. Barry, bigger than Rebecca by a hundred pounds at least, still was thrown away like he weighed nothing. The tyrant staggered, bleeding profusely now. It ran for Chris where he was getting to his feet.

He spun back, too slow, too fucking slow…and the talons on it hand skimmed over his face as it tried to straight arm jab him through the head. He slipped in all the blood and went down, saving his life and stopping the tyrant from taking his head. Jill's knife whizzed passed his face so close he felt the air shift and it struck, like an arrow, in that heart that gushed blood onto the roof around them.

The tyrant roared, it ripped the knife clean of its body…and it threw it back at her.

She gasped, rolled, but it only cost her more. It hit her in the back as she tried to avoid it and threw her to her face on the roof. And then it turned back to him. Chris, at a loss, rolled to his back, stuck his feet in that muscled stomach and pushed.

It stumbled back, he rolled to his feet, and he punched it.

He punched the tyrant clean in the face.

In hindsight, it might not have been the wisest move but it probably saved his life again. The talons ripped his shirt at the shoulder as it swung at him, he redirected his aim, and plowed his fist into bloody heart instead. That was it, the tyrant was done playing around.

It smacked him along the face with its unclawed hand. Chris was thrown to the side and skidded along the roof. Jill watched the tyrant rush him and tried to get up. The knife was embedded in her left shoulder. She reached back but couldn't get it.

And she screamed. She screamed, watching the tyrant race toward her best friend to kill him.

The sound of the helicopter was loud now. And her headset buzzed, "HERE! HERE! HOLY FUCKING SHIT IN A SOUP CAN! WHAT THE FUCK OVER!"

And a rocket propelled grenade launcher (RPG) clunked to the roof four feet from her. She crawled toward it, gasping with pain. Her hand caught it and she shouted, "CHRIS!"

She spun it over the roof toward him.

Chris rolled to his back, he grabbed it in one hand and went right, still rolling, rolling. The tyrant smashed its talons into the roof three inches from his left cheek. Chris needed it away so he could shoot it. He needed to shoot it from a distance.

Barry shouted at it, "HEY NUMB NUTS! Come get some of this sweet ass!"

And there was Barry Burton…mooning the tyrant. He smacked one fuzzy buttcheek and made a kissy face. The tyrant roared, roared, and Barry spun back and shot it. He used his last heavy Magnum round and shot it in the face.

The tyrant spun back and raced at him, so fast. It was terrifying.

Chris got to one knee, he braced the big RPG in his hands. And he shouted at it now, "Suck on THIS, you stupid FUCK!"

The weapon WHOOSHED, it nearly knocked him over with the strength of it. It made a sound like a tornado with rushing wind. The tyrant turned back, Barry was already fleeing to the far side of the roof. Jill tucked Rebecca's still body under hers, Chris threw himself on top of them both….and the RPG hit the tyrant broad side.

It was instant. It was ENORMOUS. The sound was so loud it reminded one of being too close to thunder. The tyrant was instantly obliterated. It was pink mist and chunks It rained down on them in a disgusting homage to summer showers. It smelled like rot and death and copper.

The helicopter shivered the air and settled down. And Brad Vickers, the coward, shouted, "GET ON HURRY!"

No time to do anything but listen, they moved. Barry grabbed Rebecca. Chris lifted Jill against him. They jumped on the chopper and Brad lifted off, fast, so fast. The self destruct sequence informed them of thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds.

They grabbed on and prayed.

And then the coming dawn was lit by the sound of eruption. It was graced with the beauty of destruction. It bore witness to the end of their longest night and the final moments of their nightmares. The building imploded, exploded, throwing rock and stone and debris as it geysered up like a volcano into the pink and gold sunrise.

Chris jerked the knife from her back while Jill braced. She gasped and grabbed his face, shuddering. He didn't hold on to her. He just…let her go. She watched his face, trying to see anything that looked like him on that filthy countenance. Filthy, she thought, they were all so filthy. They were all so scared.

And they were ALIVE.

They were the only four to survive the Spencer Mansion. The only four to make it. It felt like dying inside to know it. They were the only ones left alive that could find the answers to set it right.

Even though there was no one left to blame.

…..

But there was.

He awoke from his death ascended. The prototype virus he'd injected himself with aroused his dead flesh and reanimated his cold heart. He opened his eyes and sat up, soaked in blood in a pool of his own human waste on the floor of the lab.

Wesker waited for his emotions to kick in. But he'd rarely suffered from them before. In death, what little he'd had left seemed to have been eroded. He was empty. And he was ready now to become…a god.

He rose from the ground to hear the strains of the self destruct system activated.

Annoyed, but expecting it, Wesker extricated himself from the bonds of his mortality and moved to the computer to extract what he could from it. He encountered the first of the disappointments that awaited him when he entered his login information. Sergei Vladimir had locked him out of the mainframe by using the Red Queen to thwart him.

Wesker let out of a roar of rage. It shook the walls and echoed. The tyrant was lost to him at the hands of his former pupils, the data was lost to him at the hands of Spencer's most trusted colonel, and he was left to flee the bowels of the ugly mansion where he'd lost it all.

The roll of revenge was hot and wet in his blood as he moved toward the elevator to the main floor. He encountered a Hunter as he came around the corner. Its beady eyes watched him with lack of intelligence. It warbled a cry at him and leaped.

Wesker caught it in his hands like playful pet and threw it into the wall beside him. It hit, slid down, and Wesker ripped its throat out in a burst of blood and fluids. Ignoring the mess, he shifted back toward the elevator.

Lisa Trevor waited for him there. She dragged her chains on the ground and moaned. Wesker tilted his head like a curious dog. She watched him, intelligent, even if she was rotting.

"Not one is perfect, Lisa. Not even you. I am beyond you now. Beyond you. Stand down."

He shot her three times with the pistol in his hands. It didn't even seem to faze her.

She raced at him and he waited, braced, and grabbed her face as she flipped over her effortlessly. She moaned and he caught her face as he went, jerked, and threw her away like she was nothing. She hit the wall and slid down, motionless.

Wesker stepped on the elevator and rode it to the top floor.

The self destruct sequence informed him that he had seven minutes left to escape the mansion. He emerged into the lobby to find Lisa waiting for him. He tilted his head again, sighing.

"Will you never tire of trying my patience?" He shifted, studying her. "Very well. Let's see who is the greater tyrant shall we? Seven minutes is all I have to play with you."

Lisa raced at him and moved like the wind. She threw those arms, she ducked and rolled, she leaped and moaned. She hit him broad side and threw him into the stairs to roll. Wesker emptied his clip at her and threw his gun away.

He finally pushed off the stairs, scissored his legs, and caught her face to flip her away from him. As she hit the ground, he leaped. The power in his body allowed him to shoot up like a dart and grab the chandelier above them. He held on, swinging like Tarzan on a tree branch, and jerked. The chain snapped, the chandelier tinkled musically, and Wesker leaped free to flip in the air and roll across the ground as he landed, dusting his hands on his pants.

Lisa rose from the ground, turned toward him, and Wesker said, conversationally, "Be a good girl, Lisa, and stay dead this time."

And the chandelier struck. It hit her. It crashed and smashed and drove her into the floor beneath its massive weight. The crystals scattered, throwing prisms around the darkened room. Wesker pushed open the doors of the mansion to hear the self destruct sequence inform him that he had one minute left to escape.

He ran. He ran like the wind. He ran and turned back to see it erupt. To see it explode. To see it imperiled on the horns of its own megalomania. The chopper lifted against the rising dawn like a black speck on the face of perfection.

And the fire lit the sky around it. It was reflected, red and horrible, in his matching eyes. He rubbed his fingers together and watched the chopper. He'd been reborn in that mansion. He'd died a man and rose a phoenix from his own ashes. He would bring his triumph to the new world he would construct in his image.

And he would wait, wait, wait for the moment he would meet again his greatest creations: the vengeful hero that would fight to cleanse the world of the stain of betrayal and the avenging Valkyrie that would seek to atone for the loyalty she'd bestowed upon the Judas that had betrayed them all to death.

What a family reunion it would be.

He HUNGERED for the moment they were all together again.

…

It was nearly ten in the morning when he rolled up in front of his house. The hospital had treated and released them. They were patched up, stitched up, and alive. The wounds would close and heal, the body would fix itself…but the nightmares were just beginning.

He leapt off the bike and moved toward the house. His right side was stiff and sore. His left hip was aching. His face was numb from the injection they'd put in it to stitch it up. Chris opened the door to Dog have a desperate panic attack.

He raced out into the front yard the moment the door was ajar to do his business.

Chris threw his keys on the counter and started shedding clothes the moment Dog was back in the house. He followed Chris into the bathroom and laid on the floor while he showered. The hot water struck his face and soothed. It spilled against his skin and made him feel somewhat human again.

The grittiness in his eyes was painful. It hurt where it clung to his eye lashes and his exhausted eyeballs. When he was clean, physically, and number, emotionally, Chris stepped out of the shower and went into his bedroom.

He crawled on the bed and flopped down, face first.

He was asleep in moments and didn't even notice when Dog leaped onto the bed beside him and curled against his naked side. Dog laid his head on his back, keeping watch, and offering comfort to the man that dreamed now, of blood and death and rot and betrayal.

Jill and Wesker. Jill and Wesker.

Jill….and Wesker.

They coupled. They gasped. They came together in naked splendor soaked in blood. She rose above him, gasping and coming, crying out and jerking. Her body was his temple and he worshiped there like a thing possessed. She was blonde. She was ice blonde. She was pale and her eyes…empty and beautiful and crystal. Wesker rolled her to her back and filled her full of his body. He fucked like he fought, all skill and no wasted movement. And he opened his eyes as he came inside of her while she screamed, spilling wet and sticky from her weeping slit to watch himself there.

His eyes were twin pits of burning flame. He turned his head above her shoulder while Jill bled and bucked, dribbling his cum down her toned thighs. And his voice was low and horrible as he spoke to Chris that watched them, watched, and was frozen there. "Mine. MINE."

And Jill rolled shoulder and stabbed Chris. She drove her knife into him while Wesker laughed. She stabbed him in the chest and watched him bleed.

And she grinned while he died there beside them.

He came awake with a cry of horror.

It was so dark in the room that he couldn't do anything but panic. He grabbed for the lamp beside the bed and flicked it on. His hand pulled his pistol as he rolled, rolled, and had it pointed at Rebecca who stood beside the bed.

Her owlish eyes were so wide. She lifted her hands to show herself unarmed.

Dog was sitting on the floor beside her watching him.

Chris was panting, soaked in sweat, and staring at her in a way that scared her to death. Rebecca finally spoke, so softly, "The door was unlocked. I just…I wanted to check on you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Are you ok?"

Dog woofed gently.

Chris felt the panic ease back. He lowered the gun to the nightstand and let it rest there. Rebecca spoke again, softer, "You want me to go get Jill? She's still sleeping at my place…but I can send her…if you want her…"

He did.

He always did. He always wanted Jill. That was the problem. It was always the problem. He wanted Jill and Jill…she'd been encircled in the arms of a traitor. She'd been touching him. Looking at him. Wide eyed and sweet and lost. Jill…who'd stabbed him while she laughed.

No.

Shit.

His head was a mess.

Rebecca was watching him in the low light of the lamp beside the bed. She was in a little summer dress in soft pink. Her short hair was damp around her face. Her face? It was bruised where she'd been hit and swollen in places and raw from wounds. Her shoulder sported scrapes and her left knee was starting to scab. She wore little sandals in gold.

She breathed, so softly, and he watched her tiny breasts in the flimsy pink dress.

She tried again, "You want me to get Jill?"

And then her eyes…spilled down to take in the core of his body. And she made some sound of surprise and a little fear…and excitement.

Chris rolled toward her and grabbed her wrist. She made a gasp and he tugged her onto the bed. She went, wide eyed and blinking. She bounced, those anime girl eyes of hers rapturously latched to his face.

He studied her, shifting his head one way and back the other. She had a moment to decide if this was what she wanted and she gave in. Her hands caught his face and she opened her mouth. She leaned up toward him and kissed at his mouth.

She eased his mouth open to put her tongue there against his.

Cheese and rice.

She was so untried. She was so untested. She was so…young.

He dropped his face to give her the taste of him. He kissed her and it wasn't sweet, it wasn't soft, it was wet and long and full. She squirmed, gasping, and tried to eat him. She sucked on his tongue, she moaned, she shivered. Her little hands grabbed at his back…and slid down to grip at his ass.

The want of him was all over her face.

His hands pushed up under her dress and she made a sound of surprise. He might have stopped, maybe, but she opened her thin thighs for him. He shifted instead and settled between them. And he let her feel the buregeoning length of him against her body.

He glanced down to see it. He looked huge there against her narrow hips and sweet little covered mound. His cock jutted toward her belly button like a monster.

A monster…

He shook it away and focused on the thunder in his blood.

Rebecca shivered so sweetly. Her small hands shifted over his hip. She used both to touch the eager length of him. She wrapped them around his shaft and looked frightened. Frightened of him.

Monster…

No.

He shook his head to deny the pain of that. Monster. No. No monsters now. He wanted to get rid of the monsters. He looped his hand over her little ones to guide her. He helped her work his body. He helped her touch him. She gnawed her lips and shivered, gasping, her hips rising to run her damp panties against his aching length. Sweet thing that she was, she had no idea what she was doing.

She angled the head of him at her sweet little pubis and rubbed him there. She watched his face while she did it, seeking his excitement. His blood beat. It beat. He was hard, he was ready. He wanted to be inside of her and forget.

Her? Which her?

Denying it, Chris' hands caught the little white cotton panties she wore and all but tore them down her legs.

He didn't want Jill.

He wanted to forget.

Rebecca made a sound of excitement and kicked her legs to help him pull her panties off.

Her heart was beating so hard. She was so excited. She was flushed. She thought I'm in bed with Chris Redfield. I'm in bed with Chris Redfield.

Her little mound was a delightful temptation of springy dark hair between her narrow thighs. He brushed the backs of his fingers against it and she shivered. He parted her to slide his thumb against her needy little clit.

Rebecca bowed up like he'd stuck a shock rod in her. She gasped, her eyes blurred, and she grabbed his face. Her other hand jerked on his dick so forcefully it stole his breath. She released him, gasping, "Sorry…sorry…I'm sorry."

God…she was so young.

YOUNG. His brain was trying to remind him of that.

He laughed a little to soothe her and shifted. He watched her try again. She took his eager length and angled him at her. She rubbed him against her dewy slit. The needy little thing that she was…did she think she'd poke him in her and that would be it? Her toe poked between her teeth as she ran him over her body.

He let her. He let her hold him in her fist and play with him. She spread her thighs a little wider and pushed him at her opening. His whole body tightened with excitement for it.

He didn't care, in that moment, that she was too young and untested and untouched. He wanted to feel anything and she offered him that. She pushed him against her body. She pushed the fat head of his cock into her body. He let her. He let her take the head of him. And felt the stretch of her little body to take even that.

She gasped and stopped. And he shook his head and eased back from her. She shivered, watching his face. "No?"

"Not like that." He sounded so gruff. But it was working. He was only seeing her body now. His dick was eager to fuck her. He was thinking with his dick and it was better. It was better.

Chris kneeled between her thighs and pushed the little pink dress up her body until he could reach the clasp on her plain white bra. Her smooth belly, her perfect little belly button, with small bruises on the pale flesh like flower blooms.

Rebecca watched him, gasping and so sweet. Sweet, he thought, he knew she was sweet. So young. So eager. Innocent. Sweet. He needed sweet. That was the only word his brain kept firing off now. Because she was. She was desperate for him and sweet. He wanted sweet. He wanted anything but the crush and rush of horror that gnawed with ugly teeth at his soul.

The clasp gave and her filled his hands with her little breasts. They were pert, soft, perfect. The nipples were already tight and begging. They brushed his palms as he rolled them, kneaded them, and guided his mouth to them to taste them.

Rebecca bowed against his mouth now, crying out. He left them wet and suckled, he left them wet and warm. He pleasured them and her and himself with the taste of it. His mouth licked over her belly, tongue diving into the tasty mystery of her navel. She gasped and wound her fingers in his hair.

Virgin, he thought desperately, virgin.

CLEAN.

And he wanted clean. NEEDED it.

His fingers brushed the soft spill of springy hair at her center. She moaned, shaking. She gasped his name.

His eyes flicked up her body.

He wanted to feast on her sweetness.

And he speared his tongue into the eager heat of her.

Sweet thing that she was. Wonderful thing that she was. She came almost instantly. He watched her eyes blur up the line of her body. He tongued her body like a madman, sucking and licking and nipping and taking. She cried out and humped into his face like she'd throw him off with the excitement of it.

He swallowed her gasping release as she went slick and hot around his thrusting tongue. And he licked her clean, rolling her hips against his face to destroy her with the need of it. She closed her thighs around his face and clenched, bucking.

She burst apart on the wave of her first orgasm. It broke from her mouth in a squeal of sound that was his name. Her hands grabbed his face and drove him against her while she did it.

Amused, he laughed against her body and left her throbbing.

Chris slid his mouth away and filled her with one finger, testing. She was so small. SMALL. Her eager little body sucked in that one finger and milked it. He pressed, slipping in her juices to feel her contract around him. Rebecca cried out like he'd stuffed her full of his enormous cock.

And she bowed, grabbing his wrist to help him find a smooth rhythm with that one finger.

God. She was something. His mind said: she's a TEENAGER. She's CLAIRE'S AGE.

He pressed his finger deeper into her and found his answer. She was a virgin. He felt the thin little barrier that told the story of her sweetness. It thrummed against his questing digit, blocking his gentle assault on her.

He wanted…to rise up and fuck her. He wanted to fill her up and watch her cry out when he ripped that little barrier away and rode her skinny body to release. He wanted to use the blood of ushering her into womanhood to wash away the blood of those he'd left behind to die in that mansion.

And because he wasn't a complete and total fucking asshole…he didn't.

He shifted his hand and stroked her slippery little clit with his thumb while he slid his finger into her body. He stroked her. She gasped, shook, and her eyes held his face as she hit the edge of her orgasm and burst apart with it.

One finger, he thought madly, one finger. She was full from it. Full of it. She'd never be able to take all of him without ripping her apart.

He wanted to rip her apart.

It ached in his balls like madness.

Who was he? He was a man, at the end of the day, and his body wanted to pound into her while she squealed and bounced and came around him. But she wasn't some slut in a bar. She wasn't some girl on the street. She wasn't a whore.

She was Rebecca.

And she was his friend.

And she was a VIRGIN.

So he gave her that last orgasm and watched her come down, gasping. His hand slid from between her legs. He shifted to latch her little bra and he pulled her dress down.

Her voice was almost squeaky when she said, "Chris? It's ok. Don't stop. It's ok."

She grabbed his dick in her hand and tugged. She was clueless but it was a dick, not rocket science. It didn't need her genius IQ to work it. She crawled a little toward him and he spilled back on the bed like he'd…what? Run?

Was he trying to run away from the amorous 90 pound girl that was chasing him?

He almost laughed at that and she licked him.

She licked the sticky tip of him. He grabbed her face to stop her and she sucked the tip of him in her mouth. Christ on crutches, he thought madly, baby or not….she was determined.

Rebecca actually crawled up his body and sat on him. She sat on his stomach and shifted. Surely she was kidding. She couldn't take him. Maybe ever. And she couldn't take him on top like this. He'd split her open while she bled all over him.

Bled all over him…

…monster.

She lifted her naked hips and took him in her fist. She angled him at her creamy little center. She was determined to fuck him. She had no clue what it would do to her. He wouldn't fuck her. Not like this. Not without a condom and not when it would hurt her.

She rubbed him over her body again.

She started to angle him into her.

Jesus, his mind yelled, STOP HER.

Right.

He caught her waist and picked her up. Just like that. He picked her up, shaking his head, and laid her back on the bed. She grabbed for him, eager, happy. So happy. She tugged him down to kiss him a lot. Her mouth was on his face, his nose, his cheeks.

An amorous little fairy. A teenager. A TEENAGER.

She hiked up her dress, she grabbed his hips with excitement. It was enough. The guilt was worse now than the rolling horror that waited beyond it. This wasn't right. It wasn't him. And it wasn't what she wanted…not really. She deserved some sweet kid that loved her like mad to mount her and make her cry out.

Not a broken fucking mess looking to fuck the shit out of a girl and forget.

He had to show her a little that she was out of her depth here. He shifted to the side and speared two fingers into her body. He watched it echo on her face. Pain, yes, as he pressed against her hymen and stole her breath. And she pushed against his invading digits with need.

He fucked her fast and deep with his fingers now to give her what she wanted. Eager little thing. She wanted a good fucking. But she didn't want his dick. His dick would destroy her.

And he was pretty sure the guilt would destroy him too.

Rebecca cried out, flopping on the bed, humping. He pushed, hard, against her hymen and watched it pain her. And he rasped, "Honey…honey…you aren't ready. You're not ready."

But he eased back and lowered his face to lick her clit, suck it, and slide his fingers into her one more time. He gave her that third orgasm because she was sweet. Because he wanted her to find her pleasure. Because he wanted to see it on her.

And maybe it would erase what was aching behind his eyes.

"Oh…please…" She gasped it now. "Please…"

Chris slid his fingers out of her spasming body. She grabbed at him. He held her arms down now and waited. After a long moment, her eyes opened on him. And he watched her face for the moment the little pain of his invasion settled there.

She shivered. He nodded a little. "Not like this, sweetheart. Not like this."

He rolled from the bed to get her panties from the floor. She watched him, twitching and gasping, as he slid them up her legs. Chris closed her sweet knees and rolled off the bed. He picked up his sleeping pants from the floor and tugged them on. And then he sat on the edge of the bed beside her.

She watched him with those wide eyes. He patted her knee and rubbed her thigh now, smiling a little. "I'd like to throw you down here and fuck you stupid, no lie."

Curious, Rebecca sat up on the bed. "But…?"

"You're a virgin, Rebecca. You're small and…I'm not.."

Rebecca licked her mouth with excitement. And he laughed, glad to know he could.

"And we just survived the worst night of our lives. We're both a little insane with it. And I may not be the best guy in the world, but I'm not a total fucking bastard. Your first time? It needs to be with the right guy."

Rebecca watched him with her face flushed and her eyes soft. She shifted a little toward him. "You're not the right guy?"

Chris smiled softly at her. "You in love with me?"

Rebecca rolled her lips and shivered. "No. Are you?"

"No. You're a good girl. You're sweet and young and beautiful and funny. And you deserve better then to be used like some hole for me to fuck and forget about my problems. I'd like to think we're friends. Friends don't use each other. I should apologize because you came in here and I just…started trying to forget."

"Are you sorry for it?" She sounded so nervous.

Chris smiled at her, softly, "Not for the pleasure. You liked it?"

"….oh yes. Oh…yes." And she giggled a little.

"Good. Good. But you should love the guy who touches you completely that first time, Bec. You need a sweet touch. I'm…gruff. And stupid. And sorry I took advantage of your sweetness here."

Oh he was something. Rebecca looked at him shirtless there on the bed. He was so handsome. His body was bordering on something fantastic. He was slim hipped and heavy thighed and…gorgeous. And he'd had a real chance to stuff her full of his ENORMOUS dick and make them both insane. He hadn't. He'd given her something better in a way. He made her feel wanted and wet and amazing. And he didn't use her. He looked at her like she was a woman. And no one ever had before. EVER.

He was a gentleman.

Was she in love with him?

No. But she could be. Given the right incentive. She could be.

But she saw Jill Valentine written all over his face. She was all over his room, in pictures and pieces of things. She was on his body with their blended tattoo on his skin. She was everywhere. What girl could really stand a chance when he was all tied up with Jill?

Rebecca shifted a little more toward him. Her hand touched his face, "I might be a good girl, Chris Redfield. But you? You're a catch. They call you the freight train."

Amused a little, he smirked. "I heard that."

"They should call you the big squish. I think you are a soft under all that body armor."

He rose and offered her a hand up. "I think you might be right, Rebecca Chambers. So maybe I don't fuck you today. But how I about I feed you?"

"…seems a sad alternative for me. But I wouldn't say no to a steak."

He lifted a brow at her. "A little thing like you?"

"Oh yeah baby. Bring on the T-Bone." She winced after a moment, "Maybe the wrong time for the bone reference."

"Potentially. You're really ok?"

"I'm great, Chris. I'm perfect. You're right. We're both looking for something to make us forget. I'm ok with you being my first. But thank you for being so sweet about wanting it to be special for me. You make me feel good. And I'm tired of feeling bad. So, this? It's ok."

"….I'm glad you're here, Rebecca."

"Me too. Now go cook me food. I'm starving."

Chris snorted and moved into the kitchen to start assembling dinner. He switched from sleeping pants to shorts and threw one an undershirt in ribbed white while Rebecca played in the backyard with Dog. He was dicing cucumbers when he heard the little motorcycle roar up in his driveway.

His heart shivered.

Because he wasn't sure which girl he wanted it to be.

When the red haired one with his eyes strode into the living room, he felt a little niggle of regret. Not that he didn't love his baby sister…but part of him had wanted it to be the other part of his heart instead. He glanced out at Rebecca as she laughed and ran from Dog with his favorite slobbery chew toy.

So maybe there was room in him for all kinds of love. Family, friends, forever…maybe that's what happened when you broke and fell apart. Maybe you got back up and made something from the pieces. Maybe he lost Jill in that mansion…and maybe he'd said goodbye to some tie of innocence that bound him to the idea that the good guys always win…and maybe he'd made a new friend too.

Claire smacked the back of his head.

"Hey buttbreath. Where ya been? I called you like twenty goddamn times last night."

He turned to face her.

And he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to spill the beans.

And he wanted to protect her. He didn't know how deep the ties that bound were to what had happened there. Until he found out more, he was going to play this investigation close to the vest. He would tell NO ONE that he was going to uncover the truth…one ugly piece at a time.

So he told her nothing about zombies. He told her nothing about conspiracies and betrayal and blood and guts and gore. But he told her about the mission…in a way. She sat across from him and listened. His baby sister knew the right words to help. He told her about his team dying and he even made Wesker out to be a hero instead of a villain.

When he was done with his convoluted version of the truth, Claire wrapped her arms around him and held on. She wept for those who had died. She held on and stroked his back. And it was ok. It was ok, in that moment. It was ok. Because he was STILL HERE. He was STILL HERE and STILL ALIVE.

And there was a sweet kid holding him. And there was a sweet kid in his backyard with his dog.

And there was no Jill here.

There was no Jill.

And that would never really be ok.

….

Jill rose from the bed pulling her panties up her legs. The light from the bar across the street flickered in the dark room. On the bed, Kevin rolled to watch her move.

"You want to tell me what sent you leaping on my dick in the middle of the night?"

Jill shook her head. She grabbed her keys from the dresser. "Long story. Does it matter?"

Curious, he watched her from behind his shaggy hair. "Not really. Unless you want a friend to talk to. Then, yeah."

She studied his handsome face in the semi-dark. "Not yet. But thank you."

"You bet. Should I read anything into this?"

"I wouldn't. Booty call?"

"Kosher. Jill? I'm here if you need to talk."

She smiled a little and grabbed her boots from the floor. "Thanks. Right now? I just need to take a ride ok? Thanks for this. I needed it too."

"You bet. You get lonely, come on by anytime."

Laughing, Jill left his tiny apartment and moved toward the far stairs to the parking lot. She hopped onto her bike and gunned the engine. The night spilled long and dark around her as she raced toward Chris' place.

She'd given him a full day to keep his distance from her. She wanted to see her fucking dog. She wanted to see her fucking best friend.

Kevin had taken the edge off the nightmares.

Now it was time to face the music.

She whipped the bike into his driveway beside Claire's. Curious, she leapt off and moved to the door. Her hand hit the knob and stopped.

She stopped.

And she knocked instead.

It was a red letter day.

Rebecca opened the door laughing. She caught sight of her and made a whoop. And hugged her.

Jill hugged back, grinning a little. "You're hanging out here?"

"Oh yeah. Come on. Come in. Everyone is out back."

Rebecca hurried through the kitchen and out the back door. Music was piping from the yard. Jill heard laughter and the sound of someone playing cornhole. She followed the sounds and found Claire, Rebecca, Felicity and two other girls from the RPD all laughing and hanging out on the little patio.

Dog was in the yard while Chris threw the ball for him.

Jill hugged, exchanged pleasantries, and moved toward him. Chris launched the ball for Dog but he changed in mid run, woofed like a madman, and raced for her. She braced, waited, and went onto her back as he leapt on her and knocked her down.

Laughing, she hugged him while he licked all over her face.

Chris watched her where she lay on the ground in a little skirt and those boots. Her tank top was purple and snug. Her hair was in a sloppy stubby ponytail. She had on no makeup. She looked exhausted and bruised and beautiful.

She rose to sitting with her arm around Dog.

"Hey."

He smiled down at her. "Hey. You survive the attack?"

"Seems that way." Jill watched him sit down beside her. He offered her his beer. She took it, sipping. There was something on his face. "Want to tell me what's happening in that brain of yours?"

Chris shifted on the grass. "If we make too big of a spectacle with what we found out…it ends badly right? It just ends really badly. This town is owned by Umbrella. We start ruffling feathers? We end up six feet down in a body bag."

Jill nodded a little. She handed his beer back to him. "So we don't ruffle feathers."

"It's done right? The lab is gone. Maybe we hand over what we have to the FBI…and that's it."

They held eyes.

And Jill nodded a little. "Ok. And then we just….keep on keepin on?"

"What else is there?"

"I don't know. Seems anticlimactic. There's no repercussions for anyone? They just…get away with it?"

"We hope the Feds don't let them, I guess."

Jill nodded a little. "If that's what you want."

"Don't know that it's what I want exactly. But what else can we do? I don't want to put Claire in danger. I don't want to risk it."

Jill watched his face. Where was her guy? There was no humor on him now. He was so empty. She reached out and touched his face.

He turned to look at her.

"Talk to me, Chris. Please."

His hand came up and gently pulled hers away. It nearly broke her fucking heart.

He rose from the ground. "Nothing to say, Jill. You and Wesker? I think that said it all."

She rose too now, feeling the first boil of anger. She glanced at the laughing girls on the patio. They were dancing and swirling and drinking. She held his gaze in the shifting summer heat. She'd stood there with him a day ago over the bodies of their friends.

It was surreal.

"What do you think you saw in the cave?"

He held her eyes now and the breeze ruffled his hair. "You…making googoo eyes at a traitor."

Jill glanced again at the girls on the patio. She signaled with her head and moved toward the house. He shrugged and followed her.

They moved into the garage through the side door. She closed the door and turned back to him.

"First off, Wesker kissed ME. Not the other way around."

"…semantics. Did you say no?"

She studied his face. So cold. Mean. His face was fucking mean. It was set in lines of mean and angry and hateful. He was none of those things. That mansion had killed him the same as it had killed their friends.

Jill tried again, "I didn't know he was the traitor. I didn't know. And it was NEVER like that with him. I don't know what he was doing there. Trying to keep me from looking at him as the bad guy? Maybe. But he NEVER touched me before that."

"Oh yeah? Rolling sweaty on that mat for hours a day. Was he "teaching" you, Jill?" He did air quotes, "Was he? I bet he was. Did you worship at the site of his huge talent? Did the way he molded you to be his protégé leave you breathless?"

Jill felt the boil of it in her blood now. "You son of a bitch. You fucking son of a bitch. You think I slept with him?"

"Why not? You've slept with everyone else."

And she slapped him so hard it rang. She slapped his face and hurt her hand.

He didn't even flinch. He just took it.

Her voice was low now and cold, "You will not ever speak to me like that. Ever. You punched him for implying it, remember? You walked away. YOU did that. Who I saw, who I did, what I do…it's not your fucking business anymore. I NEVER touched Wesker. But even if I did….You don't get to call me a whore."

Chris was breathing so hard it hurt. She watched it radiate off him in waves. He was so hurt. He was so lost. She could see it all over him. It was all over her too. Where did they go from here? What they thought they knew was looped so painfully with what they didn't know at all. They had lost everything in one single night.

He was trying to burn it all down and find his truth beneath the pain of it. She would NOT go down in flames with him. She pushed on his chest once. And she saw the mix of the guilt and the rage on him.

"There were two people who made mistakes here, you asshole. TWO. How long did you wait to throw that huge dick to some other girl? A day? Two? Don't you DARE come at me and call me names. I don't fuck traitors. I don't fuck my boss. Apparently though, I do fuck idiots. So I guess I'm not perfect after all."

"How could you let him touch you!? How?!"

"I didn't KNOW, you idiot. You bastard. I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT HE WAS. It was one kiss. ONE. That's it. I can't take it back. I can't make it go away. I can't change it. Stop punishing me for it. I'M NOT THE TRAITOR!"

She was shouting so loud. The music covered it up, thank god. But it wouldn't for long.

"How the hell can I trust you Jill!? You were WITH HIM EVERY DAY. Every fucking day. How could you not know what he was?"

"I'm with you every day too, you idiot. And I didn't know until this moment what a fucking fool you were either. YOU IDIOT! You moron! I'm STILL ME! Stop treating me like I betrayed you in that mansion! I love you! Stop cutting me out!"

Chris shook his head, watching her face. "Goddamnit Jill. You were his fucking pupil. How can I trust you!?"

Jill felt tears spring in her eyes. "I can't answer that for you. I shouldn't have to. You should already know the answer. You should know. That you don't know? That you don't know it…makes you a bigger fucking fool then he ever was."

Chris made some kind of sound, almost a growl, and grabbed her. She resisted, shoving against him. He pushed her into the wall and kissed her.

Her hands flailed and knocked over things on his work bench. He caught them and put them over her head. Jill made a sound and his tongue speared into her mouth. She gasped, shaking her head to dislodge him.

His free hand jerked up her skirt and cupped her over her panties.

She popped their mouths apart, gasping. "Stop it. STOP IT."

Chris made that sound again. That sound that drew her eyes up to his face. What was that sound? He rasped, "What he was…what he did…how could you let him touch you?"

Such a man built around heart and home. That she'd been so close to their traitorous captain. That she'd stood with him and let him touch her…it blew apart what was left of his ability to find the good in the horror of what they'd seen. He'd watched his friends fall and die. He'd trusted a man who'd taken everything from them in a sick game of torture and manipulation. And she'd stood in his arms and let him kiss her. The betrayal of all of it was simply too much for a man that still believed, in his bones, in the good in people.

The man who kept a penny on the worst day of his life. The man who raised his sister and took over her care. The man who tattooed what he loved on his body forever. The man who bought you a dog to make you laugh and to give a girl that had nothing…something to hold on to. Wesker had betrayed that faith and left them broken, used, and grieving. He'd thrown a grenade into their world and left it fractured and smoking.

Kissing her? He'd known. He'd had to have known. That it would put the final nail in the coffin of Chris Redfield. He'd kissed her to confuse her. He'd kissed her to destroy Chris. He'd kissed her to leave her full of pain and regret and guilt that she hadn't seen him for the evil thing he was and saved all those people from his machinations.

It was too late for that. Too late for all of it. And Chris, a man who never dwelled in regret, was trapped there now. And he was drowning in it.

Jill stopped fighting him. She turned her face and opened her mouth. His tongue swept inside. She pulled against his hold on her hands and he released her. His hand slid off her mound and curled over her back instead. She curled around him. He cupped her butt and ground against her.

Jesus.

This is what they both did to forget. She knew it. She'd just come from another man's bed trying to forget. They kissed like they'd die if they didn't. Jill made a sound of need when his hands jerked up her skirt and slid into her panties to grab her bare ass.

She pulled back finally, gasping. "Wait..wait..just wait…"

Chris let her go and stepped back, driving his hands into his hair. "Sorry. Just…sorry. Shit. I'm losing my fucking mind here. I groped Rebecca this morning."

He turned to face her. She blinked at him.

"Yep. I groped her. Just…I did it. This is how I deal with my shit apparently. I just…grab girls and rub all over them. Like some fucking perv."

There was a shiver in her belly that hurt her. But she said, softly, "So do I. That's where I was. That's where I was too. Being a fucking perv."

Chris turned back, looking sorta lost, sorta amused. "We're a fucking pair huh? Inappropriate sexual misconduct, that's us."

"You fuck Rebecca?"

"No. NO." He shook his head and laughed, mirthlessly, "No. I stopped. I apologized. She's a good girl. She forgave me."

Jill felt her heart ache. "Yeah you did. Of course you did. You eat her pussy and tell her sorry after, big guy?"

And now he made a sound of laughter again and roughly bumped his head against the heavy bag. "A fool you called me. I am right? I am."

Jill made a little sound of amusement. "We're both dealing the best we can here, Chris. It's a mess. What happened? It's a fucking mess. I don't know that I can judge anything you do right now."

Chris tugged on his hair. "Fuck. How do I stop seeing Forest without eyes?"

"…what?"

He turned to her. His face was so haunted. "Forest…he had no eyes. The crows? They ate his face. Was he dead when they did it? Or was he ALIVE, Jill? ALIVE while they plucked him clean?"

Jill shifted a little toward him. She lifted her hands and cupped his arms. She slid them over his biceps and ducked in between them. He made a sound and sank to his knees. Undone, she held his face when he put it against her belly.

"It's burned in my eyes, Jill. It's burned there. Richard…Kenneth…Kevin…Joseph and Forest…Enrico…he was ALIVE. Wesker…just…I watched him die." He whispered it now, breathing. "We trusted him. We believed in him. He led us to die and why he did it? He did it because he wanted to see what I could do."

Jill went still, stroking his hair. "What?"

"He talked about me like I was a toy. He talked about you like you were a toy. He played us. Pushed us. Pulled us there and used us. He wasn't just insane…he was evil. And when it spitted him and he died….I wanted to stand there and watch him bleed out and suffer. I could TASTE his pain in my mouth. I wanted to walk over and put a bullet between his empty eyes. I didn't want to do it to save anyone, Jill. I just wanted to kill him to feel him DIE."

Jill stroked his hair, watching him talk, feeling him hurt. Wesker had stolen something from them that couldn't be fixed here. He'd taken a man who believed in hope and the power of the sword and made him bitter. He'd stripped away the veil of mortality from them and shown them how deep the rabbit hole went into the wonderland of horrors that waited beneath the quiet little town where they'd found each other, come alive, and learned to love. They couldn't go back to just being two people that wanted to love and laugh and learn to live together with happiness and friendship. It was done.

And he didn't even have the common decency to live long enough for them to find their vengeance against him. He just…died. And left the whole thing unfinished.

She wanted to kill Wesker for Joseph. For Maggie and their baby. For Kenneth and his son who loved to play the cello. For Kevin and his life long dream of going to Comic-Con dressed as Batman. For Enrico who should have been the Captain of STARS and never would be. For Forest and his stupid mullet and the way he made Chris laugh. For Richard and his prize winning Orchids that would never get the chance to beat Fancy Hanahan's at the county fair again. For Rebecca who buried everyone on her team and was the only one left to mourn them. For Barry who lived in fear of his family every moment of every second in that mansion and still waited to see how deep Wesker's hold had been. For all the scientists, the people, the passengers on the train and the people in town that had died to please his need to test his madness on an unsuspecting world. For Chris Redfield, the boy who'd pushed so hard, so long, and so strong to become the best and fight to make the world a little safer.

And for Jill Valentine…the girl no one had loved…the thief's daughter…the protégé he'd stripped of her fears and her regrets and turned into a warrior. Why? Why had he helped her? Molded her? Why? How could someone who cared enough to help her…betray her? How did she stop feeling like she'd traded her soul for the chance to be his pupil?

She wanted to resurrect the burning pieces of his corpse and kill him again as if the act alone would atone for her all the pain he'd heaped on the world around him. As if it would make any of it, ever, ok again.

Instead, she sank to the floor of the garage and wrapped her arms around him. And Chris pulled her in. She couldn't stop Wesker…not now. Not anymore. But together? Maybe they could find a way to climb out of the quagmire of crap he'd left behind.

She knew that she'd do whatever it took to try to help them both heal it and survive it.

And he knew, he KNEW, he'd spend the rest of his life trying to bring down the corporation that was responsible so that just maybe…someone else didn't have to kneel in the blood of their family and mourn. It was the only way he'd be able to keep himself…from getting lost in nightmares.


	16. Chapter 16

+Author's note:

So I had a choice here to pursue the story with Nemesis and RE3. I considered it but I don't think I can do it justice. It has LITERALLY been years and years since I played it and, even then, it was my least favorite. Not because I don't love my Jilly Bean but because it doesn't help the cohesiveness of their story TOGETHER. If I follow Chris to Veronica if I follow Jill around Raccoon…how does it help show THEM?

So, I'm going to briefly move around it and flashback on it instead. Which is how I do things.

Slainte.

….

XVI: Nemesis

:::::::::::::Sixteen:::::::::::::

He wasn't sure how to tell her. How did he tell her?

Was there words here that would be enough?

Jill, Wesker is ALIVE.

Jill, Wesker is A MONSTER.

He keyed himself into the safehouse he'd set up for himself on the west side of the Welsh countryside. It was a tiny little cottage. It looked like a fairy cottage with a thatched roof. It was protected by a fingerprint scanner and cameras. No would know but him and Barry Burton. The only two people aware of what he was doing.

He'd fled Raccoon to find the answers. He'd found Claire to see the truth. Their greatest nemesis hadn't died there in the mansion. He was simply…reborn. He'd become his greatest creation. TYRANT. He was that. And he was loose in the world trying to become something else.

Filthy, wounded, Chris opened the door to the cottage. He moved into the little sitting area, still warm from the fire that Barry had laid for him when he'd told him he was on his way back. Claire was headed stateside to be safely ensconced in the bosom of the government that Leon Kennedy had so carefully set up for her.

She'd begged him to stay with her. But he couldn't stay. He HAD to stop Umbrella. He HAD to stop Wesker. He couldn't rest, couldn't wait, and couldn't hold back until it was DONE.

Chris eased off his armored vest, letting it clunk to the floor in the tiny kitchen. He hissed with feeling as his fingers unbuttoned his shirt. When the sweaty garment peeled off with a squelch of old blood and gore, it was like breathing again. He tossed it in the trash and shifted to the sink to spill cold water into his hands and splash his face.

There was a movement behind him. He turned, so fast, and the pistol materialized in his palm to be pointed at the face that stood in the narrow hallway to the bathroom, watching him.

Her heart was hammering with it. Her heart. It was hurting. He was so bloody. He was so bruised. He was covered in them. His filthy hair was stuck to his forehead over a swollen jaw and blackened eye. His chest was a pattern of bruising and colorful pain beneath the soft spill of hair. He was bleeding on his shoulder and it trickled to the top of his disgusting pants.

The little towel she wore didn't do much to cover the bruising all over her body from her own battles. He'd fought one nemesis…she'd fought the other. Ugly and horrible, it had been designed to kill her. To kill them.

She'd watched it murder Brad Vickers. Vickers, who they all hated, the coward, the idiot, the bastard….it had lifted him and delivered a tentacle throat punch to the former pilot that had sent his body dancing in its final death throws. She'd watched the body of Brad Vickers piss and shit itself in a final parody of life and spent the next three days running toward from her own inevitable death.

She hadn't run fast enough. She hadn't gotten far enough. The Nemesis had cornered her to kill her. STARS - it roared STARS from its rotting face and with its arm that speared into her body to end her. Infected, dying, she'd crawled through the city to try to find sanctuary while she bled out. She'd awoken alive and looked into the face of man she now considered a friend. Carlos was with Barry now, working on helping them in secret. Betrayed by his own unit, he wasn't a bad man. He hadn't known what Umbrella was leading them to do. How could he?

It was horrifying. It was awful. The fevered dreams had chased her and chosen her. She'd lain in death and waited to be free. But she was still here. She was STILL HERE. And there was no release now for her. There was no end. This ended, all of it, with Umbrella gone.

The Nemesis had mutated, mutated, mutated and come again and again. It was relentless, it was driven…it was never going to win. It couldn't understand that she was the nemesis. She was the monster. She would never stop, never quit, never surrender…until it was over.

Barry had told her that Chris was saving Claire. Claire had been taken trying to find him in France. Claire was in trouble. Claire had survived Raccoon City in tandem, nearly side by side, with Jill. Claire…and Leon Kennedy. The sweet faced rookie cop had risen a hero from the ashes of the burning city. He was now working with the government in some kind of Black Ops division. Apparently, he was a genius, a commodity of massive proportions, and a key ally in the fight against Umbrella.

Umbrella wasn't just making monsters with its madness…it was making heroes.

Jill had a horrible pinkening scar on her shoulder where the tentacle had struck, impaling her, limiting her, CHANGING her. She lifted a hand to rub it while she stood there…staring down the barrel of her best friend's gun. She held his eyes and waited.

The gun wavered, it shifted, and down it came to clatter on the table. Chris turned back to the sink and filled his hands with more water to splash his face. "Barry let you in?"

"Are you kidding? Who do you think I am?"

"…the master of unlocking."

It should have made them laugh. They didn't laugh. When had they laughed last? Would they ever laugh again?

"Tell me what happened."

Chris' back was almost as bad as his front. He had slashes down it. Slashes. Knife? It looked like knife slashes. Like someone had played with him and cut him up. God. What had he seen?

His voice was low and gravelly, "Wesker isn't dead."

He might have shot her. She lifted her hand to her chest to see if she was bleeding. Nope. She was alive. Sorta.

"What?"

"He's alive. He survived. He injected himself with some fucking shit and he's alive. He's got the body of Claire's friend that had the virus we were chasing. He's not human anymore. He's something else. He tried to kill me….but then he left me alive."

Jill took a step toward him….stopped. "You defeated him?"

And now he DID laugh but it was empty and pained. "No. HAH. No. I defeated the monster he was after. I did that. Claire did that. But not him. He just…left me alive, Jill. He was burned. It was gonna blow…he could have finished me….he left me alive."

They were only human. They were only people. How did they survive this? How did they come back from it? Each step they took was deeper, farther, another step down the path into the abyss. When and where did it end? This man that had manipulated them. This man that had pushed them together. He'd played them, molded them, poked and prodded at them like experiments. Why? Would they ever really know the answer?

Human, he'd been the best they'd ever seen. What chance did they have now that he was no longer even that? Where was the equalizer? Where was the chance of victory? How did they stop him now? What kind of deal would they have to make with the devil to win?

His back was covered in bruises, in blood, in pain. His hands shook as he gripped the sink and stared into the reflection of himself in the tiny window above it. What would he trade to get the power to destroy him?

Jill saw the cost all over him. She saw it in his eyes as they stared, so tortured, into the rain that tickled the glass before him. How could she protect him? How could she save him? So good, so wonderful, he was so close to the edge of something that would break him and make him lose pieces of himself to survive. She was already there. She was wounded inside. Not from a tentacle, not really, her body would heal…how did she heal her heart?

It ached, it quaked, it shivered raw and wounded within her throbbing chest. She was one half revenge – that bled madness and need in her blood like poison. And one half fear – that wanted to grab him and hold on and run until she could find shelter for them both from what they would have to do now, in this moment, to be strong enough to keep on fighting.

She'd pay it. She'd pay the price for both of them. She'd take the devil's bargain and trade her soul to save him. It was how she paid homage to the man who'd loved the girl when no one else was looking. And never given up.

She whispered now, so softly, "Did you want him to kill you, Chris?"

And that laugh again. That laugh. It killed her. "At least it would be over right? I could sleep at night and not be afraid. I could wake up and not taste his fucking blood in my mouth like some kind of animal. All of my life, I've tried so hard to be the best at everything. And right now? Right now, all I can do is stare at my fucking hands that weren't good enough to end him. He wanted to kill my sister to hurt me. Just to hurt me. Why? Why? I can't understand that. I can't make sense of it. And I don't know how to fight it."

Jill answered him now, so softly, "I can fight him."

And he turned back to look at her.

"Yeah. I can fight him. The bastard. The fool. He gave me all the tools to fight him. He taught me how to fight him. He wanted me for himself right? The girl no one loved. He looked at me and saw himself. Something dark, something lost, something looking for purpose. But he was WRONG. Because I'm not lost." She shifted in that towel and her face. He'd never forget it. Her face wasn't afraid. It was determined. "He pushed us at each other Chris to play a game. But he LOST. He did. Because you found me. You found me when no one else was looking. And it wasn't him that gave me the strength to learn. It was YOU. I won't let him destroy you. And I'll spend every waking minute of the rest of my life finding a way to destroy him."

She is so much stronger than you, Wesker had taunted in that lab, she is stronger than you'll ever be. And he was RIGHT. Because Jill would never stay down. She'd keep getting up. She'd keep going. And she'd destroy him. Because she didn't have Claire to protect. She didn't have anything he could use to hurt her. Not anymore.

He stared at her across the room, breathing. "I can't risk Claire."

"I understand that. Go back to her. Go back to her and live your life. Let me do this for you. Let me do this for her. Go meet a girl and have babies and live. I will find him. I swear to GOD I will."

They held eyes for a long, long moment. "….that's the dumbest shit you've ever said to me, Valentine. I look like the type of guy that runs?"

She smiled a little and her face didn't break. It just…smiled. Turns out she could after all. "You look like the type of guy girls run FROM at the moment, Redfield. You smell like the bathroom at J's Bar."

Oh god.

Cheese and rice, he'd missed her.

Why did it feel like a betrayal to want to laugh with her?

How far had they fallen down the fucking rabbit hole?

Chris shifted, feeling each ache and throb in his body. "Let me take care of that, you stop talking stupid shit about running away, and we'll do this."

"What's this?" She did air quotes.

Beat to shit, bloody, swollen and sore…nearly broken and suffering, abused and used up and exhausted…and he just…looked at her. He looked. And her heart hammered a little in her chest.

Oh.

That was the power of Chris Redfield. It wasn't charm. It was flirting and winking and any of that shit. It was that balls-out honesty that enthralled you. Even if she didn't know he fucked like a freight train – she'd be wet now looking at him. Because he should have looked like shit and instead? He looked like he'd SURVIVED. A fighter. A warrior. And a good fucking could purge both of their demons and cut them loose to heal.

He looked at her in the towel. She lifted a brow at him. And apparently, THAT part wasn't dead either. Laughter could still be felt. And this between them? That was always there. She smirked a little.

"Get your head out of your dick, Red, and focus."

"…side stepping the dick head reference…"

"…..sorta."

"Hah. THIS means ending Umbrella. It's risky. It's dangerous. And it needs to be JUST US. I won't risk Claire. She's out of it. OUT OF IT. You and me against the world kid. You ready for that?"

Jill studied his face. Part of her wanted to drop the towel and mount his filthy body and fuck him stupid. The other part wanted to strap on his filthy vest and march out into the pouring rain to hunt down Albert Wesker to destroy him.

She latched on to the second part and yearned, a little, for the first.

"I'm ready. I should tell you about Raccoon City."

"…yeah. I'll tell you about Veronica. Come with me." He turned down the hallway and she followed him. He hissed, unable to bend down to untie his boots.

With sympathy, Jill knelt to unlace and ease them off. He unhooked his belt and shed his torn and ruined pants.

He rose with a wince and his teeth were the only clean thing in his face.

He said, softly, "Thanks."

"Yep."

It was a small bathroom. Small. He took up most of it just standing there. She stood between him and the heated spray that was whistling out of the ancient pipes behind her and into the clawfoot tub.

The room was moist and steamy.

He had bruises from hip to groin. Wesker had beat the SHIT out of him. She lifted her fingers, just a little, and traced the wet spill of blood on his collarbone. She was…ungodly aware that she needed to step back. That he was too close.

That was the thing that made them friends. It was the thing that bound them in a way. They had inappropriate reactions to bad situations. She whispered, breathily, "….I could use some help too."

And his voice came back to her, so gruff, so low. He watched her mouth form the words. The boil of need in him for her was insane. Months since he'd seen her. Months. He didn't know if she was alive or dead or missing him.

Had he gone so much as a day without her since the moment they'd met?

"Help with what?"

She slid her hand off his chest. Her fingers caught the top of her towel. She might as well have caught his breath with those fingers. It felt like she gripped his lungs in her fists and squeezed. He couldn't breathe in the foggy and humid air anymore.

"I need someone to check my back for wounds."

Christ, he thought wildly, don't.

And she dropped the towel.

It pooled at her feet.

Her eyes stayed on his face. His filthy face. His swollen face. His dropped…and devoured her. The tips of her breasts and those pink nipples, tight and shriveled in the warm air. She couldn't be cold, not here, not now. So, he knew she was excited for him. Her hips flared out beautifully from her narrow waist, hip bones jutting against her velvety skin. The toned and smooth spill of her belly was eloquent and erotic over the spill of perfect thighs and the springy dark hair that barred the entrance to her needy heat.

She had bruises like soft kisses of purple and pink and pretty flowers under that pale skin. He could see the closed and shiny pink scar where something had stabbed her. If he stepped forward, just a fraction of an inch, those breasts would touch his chest.

He said, softly, "Maybe you should...turn around."

"I should." She turned and his eyes slid over her again. The swanlike curve of her neck. The dancer's spill of her spine and back, so smooth, so perfect…bruised, yes, but beautifully poetic to the body of a Valkyrie. Her ass was lush and incredible. There was a fist sized bruise above her left hip that drew his attention.

Christ, he thought wildly again, don't. And then his thumb brushed over the bruise there. "Does that…hurt?"

Jill turned her head over shoulder at him, "…I don't know. Try again."

JESUS.

His palm opened and skimmed over her whole hip. It brushed the bruise. "Anything?"

Jill shook her head. "It feels ok. A little sore but right here?" She took his hand in hers and slid it over her hip. She slid it down her groin…and she put it over the bruise on the inside of her thigh. The backs of his fingers brushed the springy hair of her mound. Her voice was whisper quiet, "That one…aches."

Cheese and rice.

Jill was breathing slow and steady. He was breathing short and fast. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. And this one?" She guided his hand up her belly. The side of it brushed against one of her breasts. He was fairly sure he might pass out from not drawing a full breath. She put it over her collarbone. His wrist was laid up against the side of that breast. "This one stings."

Chris' voice broke a little, thrilling her, "Does it?"

"Mmm." Jill guided his hand again down her belly. She slid it over her hip again and the tips of his fingers passed over the edge of her needy little center. She slid his hand around and curved it with hers over the left cheek of her perfect little bubble butt. The wicked thing that she was. She cupped his hand over her and pressed, just a little. "This?"

"Hmm?" He didn't think he could make words right that second. A sound would have to do.

"This throbs."

His voice was hoarse, "Throbs huh?"

Her skin was covered now in goosebumps. She shifted her hips and the throbbing of his own painful need brushed against the tempting, taunting, wonderful crack of that ass. Damn her. She knew what she was doing. She knew. They both knew. He was filthy, he was bruised, he was wounded…she was bruised, she was wounded, she was hurting…and she was trying to turn him away from it.

He shifted into her enough that the veiny throb of his erection nestled there, snuggled there, between the cheeks of that taunting ass of hers. And he…rubbed. He rubbed against her. Just a little. Just a little bit. Just…to feel her.

He just…wanted to feel her a little.

Rebecca had shown up at his place after the mansion. He'd felt her then. He'd wanted Jill. He always wanted Jill. He wanted Jill now, when he felt hopeless and hapless and lost. He wanted Jill every fucking minute of every fucking day.

His other hand came down. He cupped both cheeks of her ass and kneaded her and he rubbed himself along her crevice. She made a little sound.

He rasped, low and gruff, "Sore there too?"

And her hands came back to slide over his. Damn her. She held his hands against her ass and let him rub like some filthy pervert against her. "Yeah. Sore there too." And now her voice was breathy too.

His forehead dropped against her shoulder. He was filthy. He was. In mind and body and soul. He didn't want to touch her too much. He didn't want to soil her. He didn't want to spill his shit all over her and hurt her.

What?

His mind asked again…what does that even mean?

It meant if he kept touching her, he'd fuck her stupid. He'd throw her against the wall and fuck her while she gasped and came. And he'd ruin her. He'd snuff out that fire to find the answers that peppered them both like bullets and left bleeding need behind.

Or worse? He'd spill some of his hopeless on her. He'd steal her edge of determination with his own cloud of regret. He was mired in it. Lost in it. Regret. It lived in him now like some kind of demon that had possessed his body and attached to his soul. He didn't want to spill it on her and let it get her to.

He started to draw back and she gripped his wrists. She shook her head. Her hand shifted and pulled his off her right cheek. She slid it over her ass and wrapped it around the needy length of him.

For the third time since he'd come in the door, he thought, Christ…don't. And she linked their fingers together while she used his hand to milk him.

And then she slid her other hand down her belly and touched herself.

And he stopped worrying about any of it. For the first time in months, he didn't think about the horror, the hopelessness, the hunt. He didn't think about surviving or fighting or loss. He didn't picture revenge or grief or loss or leaving behind his whole life to find the answers.

He just thought about her.

And release.

His free hand turned her toward him. It pushed on her collarbone to put her against the wall. And he let go. He let go to lay his palm beside her head there and leaned forward. She released her hold on him. And his hand kept rolling over his aching dick. She kept a hand on herself, slipping those piano playing fingers of hers through her slick folds to stroke herself.

They didn't touch each. They touched themselves WATCHING each other.

His eyes fluttered, thrilling her. She rolled her lips in and bit at them, enthralling him. His eyes watched her breasts heave, watched her belly clench. He whispered, "Does it hurt?"

And she looked down at the steely girth of him and wanted him so badly that it did. "Yeah. It hurts."

"Yeah it does. Jesus Christ, Jill." He dropped his forehead against hers, breathing choppy now.

She lifted her face up and brushed her mouth over his. She rubbed their noses together, his was filthy and crusty with old blood. She whispered, "It's cheese and rice, Redfield. Get it right."

And now he laughed, so breathy, so desperate.

Jill looked at all the slick pre-come that spilled dewy and needy from his heady shaft. "Does it hurt?"

His balls went tight and painful listening to her ask. He let her rub her lips over his again and ached. So, the answer there was simple. "Like hell."

Jill gasped out a shaky laugh herself. Her free hand lifted and grabbed the side of his face. "Chris?"

The question was high and quivering.

"Yeah?"

"I'm gonna come. I'm just…I'm gonna come."

He watched her do it. He watched her. He let go of his body and slid his hand over hers to share it with her. He wanted to thrust his fingers into her and FEEL it with her. But he just…didn't. He felt her juices drip down their joined fingers and wanted to turn her against the wall and fuck her through it.

But he didn't.

He wanted to kiss her and he didn't do that either.

Jill gasped, thighs quaking, and his hand slid back over his body to keep on stroking. He watched her stomach clench, watched her come down the other side shaking. And then her eyes dropped to watch him stroke himself.

She thumbed the soft skin beside his ear, "Tell me when."

The hand stroking him grabbed hers and wrapped it with his over his dick. She made a little mewl of want for him. They stroked him together now, panting. He put his mouth against hers and whispered, "Now."

And he angled himself at her springy little mound and spit sticky little strands of hungry need all over her. Her fingers slipped over the head of his spurting cock to feel it. His balls were so tight it actually HURT him to come on her. He hadn't gotten his rocks off in so long it felt like a hundred years.

He decorated her dark little patch like he was painting it white. Maybe he'd write his name in its like a brand. He pinned her against the wall, just a little, as he grunted and finished and he murmured, against her mouth, "I want to fuck you."

Jesus.

She held his face. "….I know. Me too. Me too….get in the shower. But…just…" And she guided his hand to her sticky little mound. Christ, he thought again, DON'T. And she slid his fingers over his release there and slid them down, to smear it over her slick, wet slit.

They both shivered.

She was a fucking SIREN. She was going to call his soul from him. But he wasn't thinking of anything now but her. So she was also brilliant.

She said again, even as she linked their fingers and played in that come he'd left behind, smearing it over her eager little pussy. "You should get in the shower."

"….fucking shit." He brushed his mouth over hers and pulled back, panting. Jill shuddered, watching him. Chris cupped her left breast, just once, and stole her breath with it. And then he let go and he got in the shower.

Sometimes he was dumb. Sometimes he was wise. Sometimes he was just an animal. He didn't fuck her. And that meant he was also capable of growing as a person. Which was progress.

The boiling water washed over his filthy body and brought a sigh from his mouth. And he wished she was in there with him.

Jill moved to the sink to rinse off. Part of her wanted to keep him on her body. It was dirty and raw and amazing. They weren't dead. They were still here. And they were still them.

The nature of their friendship would always be raw like this.

She wanted to get in the shower and mount him and hold his broken body down on the floor of it while the water ran pink with blood and fuck him. It was visceral. It hurt to picture it. It hurt to imagine how it would, just in those brief moments, wash away the horror behind their eyes.

Would she picture the Nemesis as he rose above her? As his hands slid around her throat to hold her and her body came apart in his arms…would she picture the pain of infection as he filled her up, gasping, bowing…burning? The only way to heal, sometimes, was by forcing what hurt you into your body so hard, so deep, that the pain eventually became numb.

She wanted to climb into the shower and hurt them both until they couldn't feel it anymore. Until there was only her, only him, and the sound of their fucking to punctuate the dark that boiled and rolled around their bodies with impudent torture. She wanted to jerk back the curtain and throw his wounded body against the wall and fuck the pain out of both of them.

She didn't.

She sat on the toilet…and she started talking.

Chris stood in the boiling water, listening to her. She talked about surviving and fighting. She talked about being trapped in that city while it burned. She talked about the Nemesis and its mutations, its vendetta, its purpose. And then she told him about the infection.

He pulled back the curtain on the shower and he was clean as the water beat down on his face. He wasn't filthy anymore. He looked like a drowned rat. "….it got you."

"…yeah."

They held eyes. Finally his hand snaked out and caught her wrist. He pulled her, towel and all, into the shower with him. She made a little sound as the hot water spilled around her.

He didn't try to fuck her. He pressed her into the wall and…held her.

Her hands came up, trembling, and held his face. He pressed their foreheads together and breathed. She whispered now, "I'm ok. I promise."

And there was that laugh again from him. It was so painful to hear. There was no humor in it. "That makes one of us then. Don't die on me, Jill Valentine. I don't think I could take it."

The big squish. She believed him. Hadn't she said something similar at mansion? Her hand skimmed down his chest and she saw it…without the blood in the way…she saw the ugly scabbing mark in his shoulder. Her eyes lifted to his face as her hand slid over it and held. His echoed hers, touching the wound left on her by the Nemesis. The shiver of their mirrored wounds wasn't lost on either of them.

She whispered, "Wesker?"

"No. Let me tell you about the Ashford family. You need to know about Alexia."

And they stood in the shower together now…and talked monsters.

…..

They ended up living in that tiny house together. The quest was difficult when you were staying under the wire and not getting any one else involved in your scheming. But they managed, in the beginning, to steer clear of using too many noticeable resources.

By an unspoken agreement, they stopped dancing dangerously with each other. The sex went on the back burner, they were too focused on finding Wesker and finishing Umbrella. They didn't even think about the other naked and writhing and crying out...mostly. Sometimes.

Well, at least not as often as they had before.

Chris had dogged determination that was admirable. He was good at research. He knew how to use libraries, how to make phone calls to get answers, how to play act well enough to elicit information from giggly little girls that worked in offices. Jill was a trooper about long trips to locations that had rumors of outbreaks.

Most of the time, their leads were dead ends. They'd arrive in to find actual wolves, they'd arrive to find out the "cannibals" were nothing more than scared kids making up stories when their parents caught them alone in the woods at night, they'd occasionally find just enough to keep them at it. A hint of something nefarious that reminded them why they were still chasing.

Umbrella shuddered under the weight of Raccoon City while they doggedly took up the charge to destroy bioterror.

As the years passed, it got easier to fall into friendship with each other. They were always pushing each other. They rarely laughed anymore. There was no time for laughter when you were chasing ghosts and fighting alone.

They would hear whispers of Wesker when Chris would bend the right ear and tickle the right interest. But Wesker was smoke. He was mirrors. He was just...not there. And they had to remember he was a genius. He was brilliant. They'd never find him without help. And help was something they didn't want too risk asking for too much of.

In the beginning, the dreams were awful.

She would awake screaming to find herself alone in her tiny bed and soaked in sweat. Jill would cry a little, at first, as she processed the horror of what had happened to them. She'd hold her pillow and scream into it in the early hours before dawn would take the nightmares away. It got easier to go back to sleep after awhile. Alone or not, it was her life now.

Chris didn't wrestle with the nightmares the same way. He'd awaken, shaking, the images of it all burnt behind his eyes like a horror movie that never ended. He'd rise and move out into the night to fight them. He'd train it away. He'd push it away. He'd bury it down deep and pretend.

It was a cottage filled with venegance. And there was no room there for fear.

One night he stood at the window to see her out there doing the same. She tumbled, she struck, she spun. He watched her mouth move as she spoke to no one, as she yelled her pain to the demons that flittered like shadows beyond their sanctuary. His fingers brushed the glass like he'd touch her, like he'd take her pain and heal her.

But he didn't touch her. And he didn't take her pain.

He stepped out into the night air and shared it with her.

They hit each other. They struck without guards, without stopping. She came at him full force, not pulling her punches, not holding back. He blocked, parried, and took it when she landed a blow that burst his mouth with blood.

She didn't apologize and he didn't ask her to. He caught her next thrown arm and threw her to the ground instead. She looked up at him in the early gray light and he said, "Get up. Go again."

Where was her best friend? He was lost inside the shell of the man who knew nothing but revenge. Where was she? She was lost inside the shell of a woman who knew nothing but the same.

She sprang off the ground and tackled him. He taught her how. When she hit him and failed, he threw her to the ground again. "Get UP. Go AGAIN."

She did. And knocked him on his ass that time.

Jill helped him learn to move quickly, smoothly. He was big and awkward and determined. When he swung, she pummeled under him sharp and fast. When he kicked, she rolled and drove her fist into his groin.

He went onto his back, clutching himself.

She stood over him without sympathy and said, "Get up, Redfield. Keep fighting. Go again."

And the love in him for her was nearly insane. He put his hand up to her and she jerked him to his feet.

They chased down more leads. They found enough to keep them hoping. The facility in France that Claire had raided was empty now. They combed through the ashes to find any clues that might have been left there.

Chris kept everything. He made charts. He lined the walls with ribbon and ties and pictures. How did one connect, how did it linger, how did it link. Chris shadowed each lead and and each line with an enviable prowess that kept him up long into the night.

She watched him in the kitchen one night from the hallway. He was shirtless, he was scarred, he was big and damp from a shower. He kept running his finger from the picture of Claire to the picture of him and back again. He missed his sister like an ache in his soul.

She wanted to hold him.

She went back to bed.

He cut off all his hair one day when it got too long and shaggy. He buzzed it down to a fine dark sheen and grew a beard. She paused as he emerged out of the house to train with her. They said cutting your hair was a cry for help.

She let hers grow out.

He got the Latin word for truth tattooed above the scar left on him by Alexia Ashford. VERITAS. It was his mantra.

Jill echoed it and had the Latin word for justice tattoed above the one left by the Nemesis. AEQUITAS.

She moved passed him as he worked one night and wrote HONESTAS across the face of the picture of Wesker and smeared blood on his face. As if the man would EVER know about honor. As if they'd find it in his blood.

Chris watched her as she turned her eyes to him. He nodded and he rose. They looked together at the picture...and for the first time in the three years since they'd started searching, Chris put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

She lifted her hand and held on.

He knicked his finger and smeared his blood over the symbol of Umbrella that sat, ugly and taunting, at the top of their pyramid of research on the wall. He echoed the feeling behind what she'd done. Her fingers linked with his on her shoulder.

And it bonded them again to keep on pushing.

He'd drawn a symbol on a paper that lay on the table. It was a picture of the world turned green with life again. It was the world made safe again.

It was the moment the BSAA began to form, like a shivering dream, between them.


	17. Chapter 17

XVII: A Lazarus Arises

:::::::::::::Seventeen:::::::::::::

2003

They hit so many dead ends that it seemed like there'd be no hope. With Leon Kennedy pulling threads in secret, they chased outbreaks and exposures and clues. They were Scooby Doo and the Mystery Machine. They were Nancy Drew. They were the Hardy Boys. They were Sherlock and Watson. But they got nowhere.

Kennedy fed them what he could. He was good about it. He gave them what leads he couldn't track on his end. Barry and Claire were kept out of the loop. It was the two amigos. It was Jill and Chris…and Dog. Dog was five years old now. He was in their safe house in Wales.

He was their floppy eared kid.

They spent all their time tracking leads and sneaking around and fighting. They played with Dog and planned. They found suppliers for weapons with the help of Carlos. But they stayed together mostly. It was the only way to keep the fall out minimal. It kept them off the radar. It kept them off the map from Umbrella.

He trained. He trained so hard. She watched him move, watched him push. He worked out like a madman. Those shoulders he'd been chasing became so wide and so encompassing. He was all muscle and strength. The sweet face of the boy she'd loved hardened. It gained scars, it gained strength, it lost humor.

They didn't kiss. They didn't flirt. And they didn't touch. Not that way. Not anymore.

He hung his picture of the world on the wall and wrote BIOTERROR across it in bold red ink. It was their focus. It was their mistress.

They were bonded by revenge, bonded by justice. There was little time for jokes or silliness. Jill focused on the techniques Wesker had taught her. She poured herself into study. She researched and guided herself to new skills, new abilities. As she fell, she rose again and pushed.

There seemed to be something in blood left from the T-Virus. She didn't stay hurt for long. She healed, sometimes too quickly. She was shot once fleeing a facility in Belarus. By the time they'd gotten to the tiny boat they'd taken to escape, her leg had healed over the bullet. She'd had to reopen it to cut it out.

She healed – in body. She raged – in soul.

Chris kept the beard and kept his hair shorn. When it peaked cutely over his ears, he ruthlessly cut it back to nothing. He doggedly kept after the truth when there seemed nothing else to find.

He pushed until something finally shook free to send them toward the truth.

Jill shivered now, feeling the push of the cold.

They were in Russia.

There'd been whispers of mutant wolves in the Caucasus region. They were there following down what would likely be another red herring. But Umbrella had felt the blows in the few years since Raccoon City.

Leon Kennedy was tireless. He was determined. He struck blows on the company at every angle. The tyrant plant had met its end on Sheena Island under his guiding hand. A suspension of business decree had crippled the company, preventing it from operating within the US stock market. The tide was turning. They just needed to put a final nail into the coffin of the dying company.

Working with Carlos, Jill and Chris were spear heading a small group of paramilitary fighters. It was off the grid but under the eye of the government, courtesy of Leon Kennedy. They weren't alone here. And anything they found would help Umbrella finish withering on the vine of its self imposed destruction.

The cold air chilled over the flesh with its inert breath. It gasped, it shivered, it offered little respite for the weary traveler looking for warmth. The flaking snow had settled on his burgeoning beard. It had crystalized in his eyelashes. His arm hair looked crinkly with it.

The Volya Refugee camp waited for them. It was just beyond the neighboring snow bank. They were gathering their resources to head in. Jill watched him, considering what she wanted to say here. "What if there's nothing there?"

He glanced at her face. A fine, light snow had started. The world was white, white, white and endless. The press and pull of winter was heavy and thick. February in Russian reminded him of what hell must feel like: endless cold and emptiness.

Jill's long hair was secured behind her head in two dark, tight braids. The puffy dark parka she wore was insulated and worn over body armor that protected her from chill and bullets respectively. She had her side piece strapped to her thigh, her hands encased in gloves with missing fingertips, and her hair topped by a snowy sock cap in pale gray.

She'd yet to convince him to dress exactly the same. He wore gray camouflage pants beneath heavy insulated body armor and a Sherpa lined vest in black covered with ammunition holders and gear. His arms were bare from the elbow to the top of his tactical gloves. How he could stand the bare skin in the subzero temps never failed to surprise her. He was strapped with weapons from hip to foot. He wore a side kick holster with his 9mm pistol on his left hip; he wore a thigh holster with his .45 on his thigh, and his knife was strapped to his calve. His knees wore heavy padding to allow for crawling or dropping or surviving. He was always so geared up when they went on missions. He wasn't going to get caught unprepared, ever again. His ears wore a cap similar to hers that blocked the chill.

Chris sighed a little, "Then there's nothing there. Nothing. It's how this works, Jill. We know how it works. How many times have we come up against nothing since this started?"

Jill passed her coffee to him to sip. It was so warm that it actually felt scalding against the mouth. Perfect.

"You're right. The chances are pretty good that we're wasting our time here."

"Yep. Most likely."

And then they saw the movement on the rise.

A man…running. A man running through the snow. He fell, he skidded, he rose again and kept going. He was trying so hard to get to them. He left blood on the snow behind him in a bright red trail.

Chris and Jill were both moving without thinking.

The man tumbled into the snow in front of them, bleeding so badly that it didn't take a doctor to know it was mortal. Chris grabbed him as he went down, cradling him there. His shoulder was soaked in blood. He grabbed his vest, gasping, "…hurry….hurry….the village…"

And he died with a gurgle, a gasp, and a spill of bubbly pink blood down his lips and chin. Chris laid him gently in the snow and rose. Jill grabbed his arm.

He gestured and the rest of their small team surged.

They rushed the hill and found the village in ruins. Ruins. Over run with the undead like someone had stopped, opened a bus door filled with infected, and kicked them off to destroy. People were screaming and dying. They fell and died. The dogs were everywhere, rotting and ripping out throats and tearing off limbs. Jill made a sound of horror and started shooting.

The gunfire was loud, it was continuous.

Chris yelled, above it, "Stay in formation! Clear the village first. AIM FOR THE HEAD."

They blew away anything that moved, anything that rotted, anything that moaned. The yelping, the bleeding, the screaming…it became a symphony of death around them. The living were few and far between and when the dust settled, the tiny little outpost was a graveyard of both the undead and the dead.

There were no survivors. There was no one left alive.

They'd been too late. The destruction was complete. The only thing they could do now was to give peace to those that had died in the battle.

They set about clearing buildings and burning bodies. Jill kicked open a door to step into a small hut. She could smell the stench of burning flesh from beyond the narrow, thatched window. She cleared a bedroom and moved into the hallway. Her boot hit the door there and threw it wide.

….and a little girl gave a cry and scurried behind the bed.

Jill lowered her weapon, immediately, "It's ok! It's ok! Chris!"

She heard him coming. She turned her head. "Chris…there's a girl. A girl here. I don't speak Russian."

Chris was already moving around the bed, hands up and out. The little girl was small and wearing a cloak over her soft red hair. Her blue eyes lifted to him and he felt his heart knock in his chest. She looked like Claire. The freckles on her nose stole his heart.

He said, softly, "Ya magu vam pamoch?"

The little girl was watching him with wide eyes.

He knelt on the dirty floor and pulled something from inside his vest. Jill glanced at it and felt her belly shiver. His sister. He kept a picture of his sister in his vest. The big squish. He'd seen her three times in five years. He probably missed her like the other piece of himself.

He showed it to the little girl. "Kak vas zavut?"

The little girl worried her lips. She moved a little closer to the picture. "…Anna."

Chris smiled at her. His smile was beautiful beneath that beard of his. "Anna. Ochin' priyatna. Minya zavut, Chris."

And then Anna said, softly, "…english is ok?"

Chris laughed a little, grinning at her. "Yeah. English is ok. Anna, this is Jill."

Anna smiled at her a little. "Jill." It sounded like Zhill.

Jill smiled at her. "You want to come with us? We'll take you some place safe."

Anna nodded a little. "Father…at work. At…plant?"

Chris lifted his brows at her. "Your father works at the chemical plant?"

"Yes. Father…say to be safe." She fingered the odd shaped pendant on her throat. "Father…give to me. Bad things to come for me? Bad things to come for all."

She rose to follow them from the tiny cottage. Jill was first through the small door. Chris bumped into her back when she halted as if frozen.

"Jill?"

And then he glanced over her head.

And all the searching across the entire world hadn't been enough to find him. It hadn't been enough to kill him. But here he was…in the dead of winter in a tiny Russian nothing of an outpost in the middle of nowhere. Which meant one thing was true: Umbrella was hiding something here.

The ugly gray tweed suited him. It was pale and boring. It was raised around his face as if he would actually be cold…although he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt temperatures on hi flesh. A matching scarf was looped around his thin throat. He smiled and his sunglasses caught flakes of falling snow.

"Chris and Jill…what dumb luck is it that brings you here?" That snooty British accent. He always sounded like he should be serving tea and crumpets to you while he slit your throat.

Chris was already aiming at him. Wesker tilted his head, studying him. Jill remained stoic and still in the drifting snow.

"Will you shoot me? You'll miss. And I'll kill you, Jill, and then this girl."

Anna shivered beneath her tiny hood.

Wesker glanced at the girl beside them. "Is this your house, dyeh-voosh-kah?"

Chris stepped in front of her. He dropped the hammer on the gun in his hands. "Get on your face. If you so much as grin at her, I'm going to feed you those ugly fucking sunglasses."

"Ah, Chris…always such clever insults. Do you lie awake at night planning all you'll say to me? Does it rankle to know I'm there, with you, in your bed between you while you sleep?"

Her tilted his head when there was no answer and his mouth bloomed in a slash of white teeth that was a grin. "Or perhaps you aren't in bed together. You've lost her. You coupled with that fear of losing her and turned her aside…what a fool you always were, Chris. And so, it would seem, that I'm your ONLY bed partner after all. Do you dream of me, Chris? I wonder if your dreams and hers are the same."

It showed how far he'd come that he didn't let Wesker bait him into battle with it. Chris vibrated in the cold air, standing like a muscular wall between Wesker and the little girl behind him. Anna curled her fingers into his vest and hunkered down, just a little.

Wesker turned his eyes to Jill. She remained with her hands in her pockets, watching him. He tilted his head at her. "No bravado from you, Jill? Have I finally stripped away the last of your humanity? Are you no more than a shell?"

Jill said, softly, smiling a little, "I don't need a gun to kill you, Wesker. Not now. Not ever. Holy water possibly. And a cross couldn't hurt. But a stake through the heart is the only real way to kill a vampire."

Wesker laughed, full bodied, delighted. "You think I'm a vampire?"

"I think you're a demon. And the only way to stop you is to banish you back to the fucking seventh pit of hell from whence you came."

"Shall we engage in fisticuffs right here, Jill? Will that suit your need to destroy me? Will the smell of my blood on the snow take away the years you've spent chasing my ghost? You will never catch me unless I allow it. You will never stop me unless I surrender. And you will never win. You aren't strong enough. You aren't ready. When you're ready? We'll see who emerges victorious."

Wesker shifted and his hand lifted as he if he'd touch her cheek. Jill laughed, she actually laughed at him, and the echo of the gun was loud in the early evening air. It boomed like thunder against the gray sky.

The blood was red on his face. It was bright red. It looked fake, like thick paint. It had skimmed his cheek as Wesker shifted, just enough, to avoid losing his eye. Wesker glanced at the steam that swirled and coiled inky into the sky from Chris' pistol.

"I said don't touch her."

"….which girl will you die here for, Redfield? Which girl will you protect?"

"Both."

"Only I can be in two places at once, Chris. You? You're not a god. You're just a…joke." And he moved, so quick. He was snake quick. He avoided the next bullet that tried to take his face. He moved into the attack zone and knocked the pistol from Chris' hands. The little girl cried out and rushed to his aid as Wesker knocked his arms to the side and smacked him hard in the side of the face.

It wasn't a human slap. It was a monster slap. It threw Chris to the side to slide over the snow. Wesker jerked his other gun from his thigh, ejected the clip, and threw it away like it was nothing. He waited for Chris to rise and backhanded him so hard it spun him completely around to fall on his back as beads of blood flew around them. He pulled the knife from his ankle and palmed it, rolling it playfully. He considered driving it clean into the other man's face to watch him squeal and gush.

Anna, brave thing that she was, rushed at Wesker to shove him. When Chris rose to his knees, Wesker kicked him in the chest and threw him back again. He did it, almost boredly.

He turned and grabbed the little girl around the throat, lifting her off her feet as she smacked him in the back with her tiny fists. "Brave thing…shall I break your neck and end your mortal suffering?"

He tightened his fist around her throat and jerked. He jerked. His eyes lowered and Jill was there with her knife shoved up into his sternum. The blood on her hand was wet and hot, it steamed in the freezing air.

Wesker dropped the girl and jerked the pendant from her throat as she fell.

He grabbed Jill around the throat instead and pulled her close. It pushed her knife higher into his sternum, aiming for his heart. Chris moved to grab Wesker grabbed his throat as well, turning him in against his hip. On his knees, Chris struggled, but the power in that one hand was insane. Wesker didn't even bother to pretend it was hard to hold them both at once.

He lifted Jill against him now and his smile was all wolf. "Brave girl…shall I break HIS neck and begin your mortal suffering? You aren't READY, Jill. Not now."

Jill fisted both hands on the blade of the knife, "I'm ready, you bastard. Let's see how you heal being gutted."

He dragged her in and kissed her. The surprise cost her a moment of response and then he laughed and lifted her. The knife slipped from her hands and out she went. He threw her like she as nothing. She came down in the snow and sunk like quicksand.

He jerked the knife from his sternum with a grunt of pain and turned.

Anna climbed to her knees and shouted.

Jill, struggling in the deep snow, couldn't get up.

And time went slow. It turned frozen and crystal in the white, white world.

Wesker dragged him across the snow like he'd take him. Like he'd take him along and keep him. Chris kicked, his hands came up to fight and that fist around his throat closed and stole all his air. He went from strangling to choking completely.

Wesker laughed a little and threw him onto his back.

Jill stumbled in the chest deep snow, shouting now.

Wesker said softly, "See how she races to save you? She will always be so much stronger than you. Why do you deny her? Why do you deny yourself? Have I taught you nothing? Uncouple yourself from your morals and take what you want, Chris. It's how you become…more."

Chris drove a boot into his groin. Surprised, Wesker stumbled, but it was fruitless. You couldn't be a man and kill a god. That was just asinine.

"Very well. I will show you how fragile you are. Try not to die."

He backhanded him again and Chris felt his mouth burst with blood. He grabbed uselessly as the other man kicked him in the chest and threw him to his back. It felt like getting kicked by a buffalo.

Jill shouted it now, "WESKER!" And she was almost out of the snow.

The men were being alerted by it.

Anna was digging through the snow for something with a desperate sound.

Wesker straddled Chris in the snow, rolling Jill's knife in his hands. "Beg for your life."

Chris rose up to grab him and Wesker sighed. His hands closed on Wesker's throat and tightened.

"What a fool you are, Redfield. More bravery then brains." He turned the knife and drove it into Chris. It sunk hilt deep and stole his breath. He pinned him to the freezing ground. "I would kill you now…but there's so much left for you to do. I NEED you it seems. Just once more."

Anna shouted and picked up his pistol from the within the snow. She rose, shaking, and aimed it at Wesker.

Wesker smeared his hand in the blood on Chris' chest and brushed it over his face. "Baptized in blood, Redfield. USE IT. Use the rage and destroy me…I demand it."

Anna fired the big gun at him and put herself on her butt in the snow.

Wesker was gone, the bullet whining into the cold air around them.

She raced toward Chris and grabbed at the knife. Her little hands tried to grip the handle through the blood and she made a sound of fear. Chris grunted, pale and shaking, and helped her pull it from his chest. He made a gasp and Anna dropped the knife in the snow. She looped an arm around his big chest and pulled him upright, leveraging him against her.

"I help you…I help you now." Her hand on his chest was small, trying to stop the blood. It was so red around them. The red on white…it spilled out and swirled on the ground. It looked…vaguely like the Umbrella symbol beneath him.

Touched, he glanced down at her little face. The hood had shaken loose to show her pretty red hair. Claire, he thought woozily, Claire bear. Where are you now?

Jill was coming through the snow toward him. She was rushing.

The rest of the team was coming.

Jill dropped to her knees and covered Anna's hands with her own. "Oh god…"

Chris said, softly, "I lost him."

"He's still here. He's here somewhere. We'll find him." She turned to the team, "Let's get him someplace safe and warm. Get the fucking medic."

Anna whispered, "Bar. There is bar. Bar is safe."

She gestured to the building across the snowy street. It was prewar and crumbling. But it was close and the town was clear. Only Wesker remained to torment them.

He slipped sideways while she held on. Jill grabbed him and tried to rise. He was so big. She couldn't lift him. "Chris…help me. Please."

He looped his arm around her shoulders and pushed. They got him up and moving. The blood trailed on the snow behind them as they moved and filled their footprints. Bloody footprints in the white of the world.

He went to one knee and couldn't get back up. Jill tried to carry him and he slid to one hand. Anna made a desperate little sound. "Get up, Redfield! Get up, again!"

His hand came out to the side and she gripped it, pulling. She got him back to his knees and the men were finally there. They picked him up.

They carried him to the bar. It was warm indeed. A fire still crackled sweetly in the fireplace.

Anna gathered things from the bar as they laid him on a chipped wood table and started stripping him down. Jill jerked off his vest and popped the buttons on his shirt ripping it off his body. Chris grunted, so pale beneath his perpetual tan. He studied her face while he listed, swaying. "Jilly Bean…you can't wait to see me naked huh?"

How long had it been since he'd called her that? Jilly Bean. What a stupid name. She loved it.

She glanced at him. His bearded face, his big blue eyes, his brilliant grin. He was grinning. Blood loss was making him drunk. She leaned into him and jerked his shirt down his arms.

Her cheek brushed his and he turned his head toward her. She said, "Where's the fucking medic?"

"She's coming. She was trying to save some wounded in town." Answered one of their men, "No luck. It was…" He glanced at the little girl, "…uh bad. It was bad."

Jill glanced at another man. "Get her here. NOW. Right fucking now."

The man nodded and hurried out into the cold.

And Chris turned his lips to her cheek and kissed it.

Jill shook her head at him, "You're all kinds of inappropriate reactions, Chris Redfield."

Jill threw his shirt on the floor and leaned back to lower him to the table. He was all blood from collarbone to navel. It was bad. It was really bad. The wound was narrow but gushing. She smeared a hand through it to try to see if it was heart. It couldn't be. He'd be dead by now.

All his goddamn muscle coupled with that thick vest of his had likely saved his fucking life.

But who was she kidding? If Wesker had wanted him dead, he'd be dead now.

Chris grabbed her wrist as sit slid over his chest. He tugged and she came down to him. Her face was so stoic. He knew it was bad. Her lack of emotion on that face said it was bad. So he said, "Jilly Bean…send Anna to Claire ok? Send her there. Claire will take care of her."

Jill studied his pale face. His eyes were droopy and tired. The table was dripping blood on the floor. It plopped audibly and landed on her boots. It was all over her hands. Her hands were covered in his blood. And that symbolism wasn't lost on her. It wasn't. "Shut up, you big idiot. You're not dying on me."

The medic, a tall blonde woman named Petra, was hurrying over. Jill took the Vodka bottle Anna handed her and dumped it on his chest to sterilize his wound.

The reaction was immediate. He sprang up, he shouted, he tried to shake her loose. Jill grabbed his arms to hold him down. She threw them over his head. "STOP IT! Be still, you dumbass."

"Fucking asshole hairy tits!"

Jill shook her head at him. "Watch it, you know I love that dirty mouth of yours. You trying to turn me on?"

He actually laughed, wheezing a little. "Give me the booze, Jill. At least be a pal here."

Taking pity on him, Jill eased a little vodka into his waiting mouth. Nothing like a little liquid courage.

Petra dumped hemostatic medicine on his chest and made him hiss. Anna was bringing bandages from behind the bar. Jill shifted to hold his arms down from behind his head now. One of the men grabbed his legs at the ankles to pin him there.

Petra opened her kit for the needles.

He jerked. "Jill! Are you fucking kidding?"

"I mean it, Redfield. Shut up. Don't be a baby. You want to bleed out all over this fucking floor and die? Shut up."

Petra eyed him. "He'll scream. He'll bring whatever is out there if he screams."

"I won't fucking scream. I look like a wuss?"

Petra gave him a long suffering look. "….guys like you always scream."

And now Jill laughed. She laughed. "Big tough he-man right?"

And Petra snorted, smirking.

Jill leaned her upper body over his face. Upside down, she held his gaze. "Look at me. Right here, tough guy. You squish. You softie. Right here."

Petra wiped the blood away on his chest. It slid down to settle into the lovely plains of his ridiculously corrugated stomach. Admittedly, it was a nice body, the blood made it almost poetically beautiful. A warriors body. Smirking at herself, Petra stuck the needle into him.

He jerked, gasping.

Jill said, "Here, Red. On me. Don't scream. Don't. I'll make fun of you forever."

Petra made the first stitch and went back again. Chris was so pale, shaking. Jill kinda hoped he passed out and saved him the pain of it. But he kept staring at her.

She said, conversationally, "Upside down your beard looks like a hairy pussy."

And he laughed. He laughed, brokenly, painfully. It was breathy and the first real laugh she'd heard from him in so long. Petra snaked the needle into him again and he gasped. She made another stitch and he started trembling. It was fine and in the bones. There was nothing quite like stitching on several layers of skin without lidocaine.

Jill remarked, "I can see your crows feet starting too, Grandpa. It was cute at 25. At 30? It makes you look like a dried up old man."

Another stitch was in. He grunted and started breathing shallow and low.

"No. Don't do that. Just because your face looks like a pussy does NOT mean you get to be one."

Petra finished the first layer of skin and moved to stitch the outer layer. Chris jerked at on his arms. Jill held them down with her body weight. "Don't fight. Be still, you big baby."

"Get off me, Valentine. I'm gonna kick your ass."

"You wuss. I'd love to see you try."

Petra sunk the needle again and he yelped. Amused, Jill chuckled at him, "PS – I can see bats in your cave from this angle, Redfield."

Chris had to laugh. He had to. "Help a guy out and pull em out, kid."

His voice was so breathy. Jill snorted a little, "Pick your friends, pick your nose…never pick your friends nose."

"…your poetry is almost as bad as your breath, Valentine."

Laughing, Jill realized it was a helluva way to kick start their friendship again. They'd been so careful with each other all these years. They'd fought, they'd searched, they'd been cordial and polite. They were close without being them. The fight had stolen their friendship.

Wesker bleeding him? It might have been the best thing that had ever happened to them.

Petra stuck him again.

He gasped, "I'm finished with this shit. Get off me."

"Shut up, you cry baby. Focus on my face."

"How fucking long does it take to sew up one tiny cut?!" He shouted it. Jill gave him a dirty look.

"Stop shouting, Redfield. You want to bring the bad guys around again?"

"BRING THEM! I'll punch every last one of them in their stupid FACES!"

And Jill couldn't stop the laughing now. She loved him so much. The idiot. "You tough guy. Can't fight a stitch though, can you? Harness your chi, handsome, and quit grumping like a tired toddler."

"I'll harness YOUR chi, Valentine. I'll harness your chi any time you want just a—"

Petra poked him again. He jerked. And Jill knew he was going to bring down the rafters with his shouting now…the pansy.

"GOD DAM—"

Jill kissed him. It was the only thing she could think of to stop the shouting. She kissed him upside down. His beard was soft on her mouth. It tickled her nose on his chin.

Petra kept on sewing, smirking a little. Effective, she thought, but you couldn't be kissing every wimpy man that couldn't take a stitch in the field.

Chris gasped and Jill held her mouth there against his. As far as distractions went, it was a good one. It redirected his brain from one pain to the other. He fucking missed her in his bones.

He made a little sound and relented. It was soft, almost too sweet. Smooth and delicate. It still spilled into her blood and owned her. She finally leaned up and met his eyes. She brushed her nose over his. Petra laid another stitch that went unnoticed now.

He craned his neck a little at her and she dropped her forehead against his.

They both closed their eyes to feel it.

Anna, standing there beside her, had seen her parents kiss once like that before her father had left. It was what love looked like. The painful, raw, and long standing kind of love that happened when you denied it and were afraid. For someone so young, she knew enough of fear and loss and love to see it written all over them.

Jill rolled her forehead against him. "…be quiet, please…let her fix you."

She whispered it.

And he could do nothing now but nod. She looked like she might cry. How did he deny her anything when she did that? He rasped out, "Don't cry, Jilly Bean. I'll make fun of you forever."

Jill laughed a little wetly. He tilted his head back, just a little, and she kissed him again, making a small sound of need. Just the soft press of two pairs of upside down lips. She wasn't even holding his arms anymore. Her hands had shifted to his face.

Petra avowed, softly, "All done now. All done."

And Jill opened her eyes. They were misty. She answered, so softly, "….yeah. All done now."

Chris, the big squish that he was, was misty too. When did they stop missing each other? When did it just become easier to breathe like this? His best friend in the world…when had he lost her?

He pressed their noses besides each other. Jill gave him the weight of her…for just another sweet moment…and she rose off him. He lay there on the table feeling the absence of her like a knife wound in his chest.

Jill turned to the other men in the room. "Get him more gear. And scout ahead at that chemical plant. If it's clear? We're going to raid it come nightfall."

Petra was rinsing her hands at the sink behind the bar. "He's lost a lot of blood. He could use a few hours sleep and a transfusion, if I'm being honest. How much time do you want to spend on it?"

Chris was still lying on the table, eyes closed and breathing.

"As long as he needs."

Petra nodded and Jill moved to take Anna's hand. She knelt before her. "I can get you to safety. Do you know what your father did at the chemical plant?"

"No. I –"

The sound of the explosion was so loud it rocked the room around them. Jill grabbed her to bring her close and the ceiling shook dust on them. The smell of burning followed the pressure of air that made a whooshing POP outside the building.

She pulled Anna back a little. "Stay with Chris. Do you understand? Stay here."

Jill pulled her weapon and raced out into the snow with two of the men. Anna's house was obliterated it. It was rubble and burning. Had Wesker done it? Why?

She turned back into the bar. Anna was using a small washcloth to wash the blood off Chris' chest while he slept. Petra had set up an IV to deliver blood back to his pale body.

Anna glanced up at her. "Bad man is dead."

Curious, Jill tilted her head. "What?"

"Bad man took necklace. He wanted…to get secret from Anna's house…secret…was bomb. Bad man is dead."

Jill felt the flutter in her chest that was hope. Hope. Would it always spring eternal?

She scouted the Chemical Plant while Chris slept. She stared at it over the driving snow as night fell and the day slid heavily away on the horizon. It was enormous. It was still active. Plumes of smoke accompanied swirling curls of fire into the blackened sky above it. If she spent three days there, she'd never find what they needed. She needed a map.

Jill turned back to the bar and moved inside. He was still sleeping. Someone had tucked a soft and plush Sherpa blanket around him and put a pillow under his head. Anna slept in a chair beside the table. Her head was on his forearm, her hand held his.

Jill felt the shift in her belly that told the story of what life should have looked like for Chris Redfield. At 30, he should be coaching football and going to barbecues and raising babies. Instead he was bleeding in the freezing Russian wastelands waiting to see if he lived or died.

Jill turned to pick up her SATPHONE that was sitting on the bar. She dialed it, waiting for the other end to pick up.

"Kennedy."

And now she smiled a little. "Leon – how's it hangin?"

She heard him laugh and pictured his handsome face. "Currently? I'm freezing my nuts off somewhere in Russia. What about you?"

"A curious thing that. As I'm doing the same."

"No shit? You ready to get that coffee?"

What a flirt he was. She kinda wanted to get that coffee. Which was, entirely, why he was such a sneaky little shit. "Can't do it. I'm up to my ass in the undead."

"…you sweet talker, Jill Valentine. Keep talking zombies to me and you'll get me all hot and bothered."

Jill laughed a little. "I need some help on my end. Not sure if you're the man I need or not."

"Most women only need me, darlin. Give me a chance to prove it. Hit me with it."

At least his harmless flirting made her chest feel a little less tight. She leaned on the bar, "I need a blue print schematic of a Russian chemical facility in the Caucasus region of central Russia. The Russians sold it to Umbrella. I'm pretty sure it's being used for BOWS. I need to get in and find out. And I can't just go storming the gates."

She could hear talking on his end. She waited, listening to him speak to someone near him. "Give me fifteen minutes, Jill Valentine, and I will rock your world."

Jill snorted out another laugh. "You ever score with that kinda trite shit, Kennedy?"

"You'd be surprised. You prefer the lines to be fresh huh?"

"Presumably. I'm not sure you have any fresh ones."

"Ouch. To be fair, I spend all my time with rotting corpses so the feedback is minimal."

Jill shook her head, chuckling. "I'll give you a pass on the B-Movie flirting if you rock my world, Mr. Kennedy. If not? I expect you to come at me next time with some better material."

And now he laughed, delighted. "Fair enough. What's the likelihood that I get you what you need and you get a drink with me when this is done?"

She considered it. And she hadn't considered something with a man in a long time. "This ends the way I think it will, Leon, we could be talking about the end of Umbrella here. I'll do more than get you a drink. I'll let you do shots off my ass."

He was pretty quiet on his end. And he finally made a little sound. "Holy hell. Done. Fifteen minutes. I am now, definitely, crossing all my fingers and toes and potentially my buttcheeks that this is the end of Umbrella."

Jill laughed so loudly it startled one of the men beside her. "What an image. Thank you, Leon."

"You bet. Fifteen minutes, Valentine. And don't welsh on the promise."

He hung up laughing. She was still smiling as she turned back and dropped the phone on a gasp.

Chris, pale and bearded, was standing a foot behind her. The phone bounced on the floor and skidded. He lifted a brow at her. "Sorry. Interrupt you playing footsie with Kennedy there?"

Jill's lips pursed a little. She echoed the raised brow. He was so pale. It scared her. His golden tan was floating above his pasty pallor.

She gave a bland look. "He's helping us. Don't be a bitch."

Chris studied her face now and laughed, a little hoarsely. "Chris Redfield – bitch."

"Chris Redfield is a hero. Don't kid yourself. He's also an idiot. Why are you up? Sit down." She grabbed one big arm and eased him onto a barstool. He went and didn't resist, which told the story of how bad off he was.

"How's the pissy prom queen helping us anyway? He sending a case of hairspray that we can use as flamethrowers?"

Jill arched a brow and moved behind the bar to get a bottle of vodka. She poured two shots and slid one to him across the bar. Grateful, he took it and threw it back with a hiss of pleasure. It spread warm and welcoming in his gut.

"He's pulling schematics and blueprints on the chemical facility. We need to infiltrate quietly."

"Fuck that. Get the fucking Russians in here, Jill. Let's kick in the damn door."

She met his eyes. The beard hid the curve of his mouth but he wasn't smiling. And he wasn't kidding.

"Don't be stupid, Redfield. We go kicking in doors, we'll get Wesker in our faces."

The rage on his face now was frightening. "GOOD. Fucking bastard. Let's stick an RPG up his ass and finish him."

"Chris…" She breathed it now, "Stop it. You're not making any sense right now."

"I am. I fucking mean it. Enough of this cat and mouse shit. ENOUGH." He shouted it now and launched his shot glass at the fire. It hit, shattering with a musical tinkle, the left over alcohol had the fire flashing upward with excitement as it spilled. "Chasing him all these years…wasting our time…for what!? Why? Let's go in there and kiss his ass, Jill. I mean it. If he's in there…fuck finding the answers. Get me the fucking Russians..and get me the nukes. Let's end it NOW."

Jill threw back her shot and hissed. She poured another and eyed him. "There are people in that facility Chris. Potentially hundreds."

He said nothing.

She held his gaze. "Innocent people."

"I get that."

"Do you? Really? Is that your price for revenge? Hundreds of innocent people?"

He laughed again now. So bitter. He was so bitter. It hurt her. "Why not? He'll likely blow that place sky high anyway when he gets what he wants. Let's BEAT HIM TO IT, Jill. Get him first. Get him in the wash. I'm sorry for those people. But now? Now is our CHANCE."

Jill gestured with her head and the man in the bar with her nodded. He took Anna with him and cleared out in to the cold. Jill licked her lips, seeking the right words here. On one hand, she understood it. The desire to kill him was painful. It was constant. It roared between them like a lion – trumpeting its massive need over the rest of the savannah while it waited for the kill. But this wasn't Chris. Chris didn't go into a place and kill everyone around him. He wasn't collateral damage and the needs of few versus the needs of the many. He wasn't. His rage was taking over his common sense. It was eroding his good. It was turning him dark.

How did she anchor him? How did she bring him back? Could she? They had grown so far apart. So she hit him in the heart, where she knew he was still so vulnerable. There wasn't time for gentle here. There wasn't time to talk him down. She had to take him out before he coordinated with the Russians and blew the place sky high.

"What if Claire was in that facility?"

And that worked.

His face. It worked. He made a sound of frustrated grief and covered agonized face with his hands. "Fuck." It was muffled in his palms. He slid his fingers under his sock hat and scratched his woefully short hair.

"Give Leon a minute, ok? We can sneak in, get answers, and get out. The Russians will evacuate the facility…and it'll be ok."

"And what about Wesker?" He was rubbing his tired eyes. His naked chest was sticky with dried blood. Jill shifted and picked up the bowl of warm water and the washcloth Anna had been using. She dampened it and stepped forward.

He opened his eyes to look at her. She slid him the shot of vodka and stepped between his legs. The wash cloth was wet and warm on his collarbone as she smoothed it over him, rinsing away the tacky dried blood. "Wesker nearly killed you today."

He dropped his hands and picked up the shot. He threw it back and set it on the bar beside him. He watched her face now as she cleaned him off. She slid the damp cloth over his collarbone and the warm water ran down his chest and toward his stomach. She couldn't blame it for running…the stomach was ridiculous. She knew he did a thousand sit ups a day. She watched him.

"He didn't want me dead. He was playing with me."

His voice was low, quiet. She lifted her eyes from his stomach. "I know that. He wants us to go in there. He wants us to find something in there. Why? What? If we blow it up, we'll never know."

They were speaking in hushed voices. Why? Standing between his thighs while he sat, they were the same height. She didn't need to be this close to bathe the blood on him. He could have done that himself as well. But neither moved.

"Maybe I don't care what he wants."

She lifted her eyes to his now. The sock hat was crooked on his head, displaced by his harried fingers. Jill slid the warm cloth down his sternum while she held his eyes and shifted it over his nipple. She steered clear of his bandage on the other side. If Wesker had wanted him dead, he'd have done a heart blow…he hadn't even stabbed him in the right side of his chest for that.

He didn't want Chris dead. He wanted him punished. The bastard.

She'd be DAMNED if they let him get away with it. If he was in there, she wanted to face him. He was right, on one hand, enough was enough. But they had to kill him face to face…it was the only way it ended for all of them in a way that allowed Chris peace and let her sleep at night again without feeling the fires of guilt for being his protégé.

"You care, you big liar. You care." The warm cloth slid over his stomach and took the rest of the sticky blood with it. "You need to look in his face when you kill him. Don't deny yourself that. Don't. He nearly killed your sister. He nearly killed you. He killed our friends. He doesn't deserve a quick death, Chris. Not like that. Don't let him turn you into something you're not. Don't. That's the only real way he wins."

The warm cloth slid from her fingers and plopped on the floor with a wet sound. He held her eyes. Close. He could feel her breath this close. His eye volleyed across her face, looking for what? The boy that had looked at her all those years ago in Raccoon City had never had that edge in his eyes. That darkness. It called to her. His voice was so low it was like a bear talking. It, literally, dragged out of his chest with a lilting growl, "What am I?"

Her fingers shifted and slid over his tattoo of his parents. It slid and lingered over his sister's name inside his wrist. It rested on the one above his wound from Alexia. VERITAS. "You're Chris Redfield. You're the hero. The hero doesn't kill the people he's trying to save. Be Chris Redfield. Save the day."

Chris shifted. His gloved hand came up to hold her face. "Chris Redfield is an idiot."

Jill smiled, softly. Her fingers shifted and trailed over his nipple as it slid off his chest. They were both aware that she didn't have to touch him. They were both aware that the touching now, was stupid and wasteful and wrong. But she'd watched him bleed all over the snow. She needed to touch him now. They'd lived in relative peace and freedom for so long. The shock of the dance with mortality again was ringing in her ears like a siren. What happened to her if he died?

What happened to Jill Valentine if he died?

She didn't know how to understand that question. She didn't know how to make sense of it. It was gibberish and madness and wrong. The phone jingled, startling them both. She didn't move. She stayed right where she was. She picked it up off the bar and answered it.

"Valentine."

"I hope you like jello shots, sweetheart, I'm gonna be licking them off that sweet ass soon enough."

She held his eyes while Leon Kennedy bragged in her ear. And her hand shifted to the bandage on his chest. She pressed her palm on it and held. She could feel his heartbeat and it steadied her.

"Fair enough. You are a GOD, Leon Kennedy."

"That's what the ladies tell me. Stand by for transmission, darlin. Tell that stick up his ass, he's welcome. And he owes me a beer."

"Will do. Thank you, Leon. I mean it."

"We're in this together, Jill. All jokes aside, get me something I can use to take Umbrella and put them six feet under for good. Let's fucking end this." She could hear him typing on a computer while they spoke.

"With pleasure. Keep your pants on, Kennedy. It's gonna get hot in here."

And he laughed now, delighted. "It's your pants you need to be losin, Valentine. I'll be waiting for those shots."

And he clicked off. She smirked and set the phone down.

"He's sending the blueprints to the outpost link. You ready?"

Chris' hand came up and covered hers over his wound. A handful of seconds passed. "Tell me this is where it ends, Jill. Tell me he's finally here because the answers are here."

"I think you know the answer. We both do. Let's end it. Focus on that. Please. I need you with me, Chris. I need you with me now. Not lost somewhere in the regret of it. Stay with me. Please."

He made a sound and shifted. His fingers curled into the back of her scalp and he brought her down to him. She shivered but he didn't kiss her. He put their foreheads together and breathed. It was the moment she knew there was no Chris Redfield without Jill Valentine. It was the moment she knew they were the same.

Pieces of each other. Pieces of the whole. They couldn't exist without the other. Removing the sex, removing the romance had opened the door to a much deeper truth: they were bound. Soul mates. Twins in spirit. Linked together by the common bond of justice. There was nothing more intimate than that. Nothing greater. If they went a thousand years apart, they would still be bound.

Chris finally said, "I'm with you. I'm always with you."

Jill nodded and her breath was shaky. She opened her eyes to look at him and hers were a little wet. Amused, Chris added, "You getting sappy on me, Valentine?"

"That's a negative on the sappy stuff, Redfield. But I've missed you."

A funny thing to say when they'd been side by side all these years. But they both knew they hadn't. The hunt had stolen their friendship. Ending it would give it back.

Chris smiled a little and swept away the fat tear on her cheek, "None of that. No time for girly shit. You start crying, I'll make fun of you forever."

"You would. You dickweed." She smacked his chest and stepped back. "Cover up your fat gut and let's get out of here."

"Fat?" He rose and stretched, popping his neck. And she watched, damn his eyes. Aware, he smirked. "I am only fat…in my pants."

She lifted a brow at him. "Really? A dick joke? You being dirty in a filthy Russian bar five steps from the thing we've been chasing all these years?"

Considering, he began slipping on the gear provided by the team. "…no?"

"Good answer. Don't be crass." Oh god, she'd missed the flirting. She'd been half dead without the flirting. The promise of answers was pulling them back to themselves.

She moved passed him to the alert the team and set up the raid. He was bent over strapping his boots. Unable to resist, she slid her hand over his ass as she went and delivered a solid smack. He jumped and nearly went over onto his face on the floor.

"Whoa…hey…flag on the play. Come back here and keep going. A little left and under the thigh."

It warmed her to hear him talk like that. It warmed her blood. "Can't do it. No time. Have to kill bad guys."

"You're an evil tease, Valentine."

"That's the rumor. Meet me at the outpost when you're ready, old man. Let's see if you still have what it takes."

"Come back here. Give me five minutes. I'll show you what it takes." His voice. It was full…of humor. And she hadn't heard it in so long.

Jill turned at the door, face sardonic. "Five minutes? Cheese and rice, Redfield, how can a girl say no to such a generous offer?"

"….it's been awhile. I gotta rebuild my stamina." He was grinning through that beard. His teeth were so white. The beard was soft. She wanted to run her fingers over it and tug. She wondered what it would feel like between her legs.

The image had her nipples tightening. It brought a little grin to her face.

"You used to be a freight train. You're more like an express train now. Over before you even really get on. Not sure it's worth buying a ticket my friend."

Chris blinked at her. She blinked back. And then he started laughing.

She hurried out into the snow hearing it in her ears.

It warmed her better than any fire ever could. It felt good. She felt good. And ready to find the truth.

In the bar, Chris finished strapping on his vest. He rubbed his fingers together as he moved. He'd forgotten how smooth her skin was. He'd forgotten how musical her laugh was. He rubbed his chest and winced at the pain from the knife wound there.

But it was all ok. It was ok. Because they were inches away from the answers they'd been after all this time. The final step. The final battle against Umbrella.

They'd win it together.

And then maybe he'd show her all about what kind of train he was.


	18. Chapter 18

XVIII: The End of Umbrella

:::::::::::::Eighteen:::::::::::::

2003

The facility was large but cleverly laid out. There was only two access points and as many fire escape points. The good news was there weren't any innocent people to evacuate. The bad news was that any people that had been in the facility had turned.

The team was worth the effort. Kennedy hadn't been wrong about that either. Private didn't have the political and bureaucratic hoops to leap through so they infiltrated fast and efficient and without worrying about chain of command. They split into teams of two to clear various wings of it. It encompassed over a square mile of space. They would be at it all night if they didn't split up.

Nothing horrible seemed to have infected the facility save for clear indications of the T-Virus. It was in the staff that met them in various locations. The cafeteria was over run with the dead. Containment of the virus was instigated and carried out over a series of several hours.

They kicked in doors and cleared, kicked in doors and cleared…and found nothing.

It was nearly dawn when Chris and Jill met up in the main area of the facilities reception room. They faced each other and held gazes. He had old blood on his chin and chest from blowing away zombies. She had it on her arm and coat from stabbing them in the head. That neither even blinked anymore over the stench of rot and death around them, spoke volumes about how far they'd come in five years.

She said, "Anything?"

He shook his head. "There's something here, Jill. There has to be. But where?"

Jill sighed and rotated to scan the area. It was as generic as a processing plant could get. It smelled vaguely medicinal and acrid, the stench of chemical development burnt the nose and tickled there to make you feel like you might need to perpetually sneeze. There was nothing worth finding here.

How could that be?

And finally her ear communicator shivered. It popped. It hissed.

And it was hi-jacked from the rest of the team.

The smooth cultured voice of the devil filled her ears, "Things are never as they appear with Umbrella, Jill. The lab in Raccoon was where?"

And she held Chris' gaze, whispering now, "Beneath the surface."

"Beneath. What lies beneath, Jill? Find the answers. Remember: TALOS."

The headset crackled. Chris grabbed her upper arm and squeezed. "What, Jill? What is it?"

"…I know where we need to go. Get me the blueprint!" She shouted it and moved to the reception desk. Her hands lifted to knock everything aside. It clattered loudly as the blueprint was laid on the desk before her.

She grabbed a pen from the front of Chris' vest and bit off the top, spitting it away.

And she located the subway system beneath the facility. She traced along it and Chris watched it form…a symbol. His skin tightened. He leaned over her. She saw the moment he figured it out. The subway tracks all converged beneath the facility. They all converged…in the shape of the Umbrella symbol. Jill put a star at the point where they met.

Chris lifted his eyes to her face. "…what did I always say? You're better than you think, Jill Valentine."

She shifted her hand and they gripped palms, hard, squeezing. "Now?"

He nodded, "Now. Right fucking now."

They turned and Chris shouted orders. They were moving, running. The emergency access to the subway system was locked up tighter than a drum. Jill made short work of it. It was refreshing to break out of the lock picks and defeat an enemy she understood.

The subway was empty. No hostiles. No signs of anything.

The only evidence of use was in a still smoking train car they came across. Someone had recently infiltrated the facility. Jill glanced at Chris and he said, softly, "Yeah. It was him. Let's find him."

Jill didn't have the heart to tell him who had given her the clues to locate the source they were seeking. There was an end game here. Was it a trap? They hadn't to run it down, trap or not.

They came to the steel door at just the point on the map Jill had predicated. The subway was cool and dark and inviting. They could just…stop here and nap. Just lay down and nap. Jill considered it before she gathered her balls and stepped forward. The keypad on the door demanded a passcode.

Chris sighed. "Get me what information we've got. Anything. Let's figure this out."

And Jill whispered, "Wait…Hold on….I think….remember…TALOS." She typed it in and door beeped, turned green, and slid up from the ground.

Chris blinked at her.

"Long story. Not now ok?"

"…alright." She didn't like the shrewd study on his face. It made her angry to see it. Ignoring it, she ducked into the room.

Later, she'd think of course this was what he'd wanted. He was trying to kill them after all. This is what he he'd set up to do the job. The tyrant had an ugly brother. An ugly ARMORED brother. The tyrant's ugly brother had one arm that was a CANON with four enormous ports to launch death at them. And another arm as long as two men with four claws to CRUSH those same men in its angry grip. This was, clearly, TALOS. TALOS wore steel plating. TALOS had no time for stupidity.

It cranked its enormous rocket arm toward them. Chris wasn't even through the door. Jill tackled him so hard it stole his breath. They hit the floor and the rocket WHOOSHED above their heads. The rest of the team scattered, diving for the ground. And the door SMASHED down, ceiling Chris and Jill alone in the room with the armor plated tyrant.

Jill and Chris slid over the ground and separated, rolling. The TALOS turned, tracking them. It didn't roar as its brother had done. It sounded like a robot. It was shifting gears and grinding metal. It aimed again with the rocket arm. Chris hit it full in its plated face with the shotgun he swung from his back.

The rocket WHOOSHED as it staggered back and hit the ceiling. It blasted a hole in the metal and rained chunks of stone and dirt down. The noise was massive. It shook the walls, it had them staggering. Jill echoed Chris and broadsided it with her own shotgun. It took the hit in its armor plates and didn't even flinch.

Jill glanced at Chris. "What now!?"

"Split its focus. Aim for the places NOT COVERED. We have to wound it enough to get those fucking plates off."

"Are you KIDDING me!?"

"Fraid not, kiddo. MOVE!"

It fired a rocket at her. She dove, forward, right at it. The rocket brushed though her hair as she hit the ground and slid right between its big legs like a slip and slide. She grabbed its big arm and climbed. She climbed right up its back while it whipped around and aimed at Chris.

Chris laughed a little, "Thanks! You fucking monkey! I'll just play footsie with our friend here while you mountain climb!"

Ignoring him, Jill scaled up its back. It speared its huge arm at Chris and missed him as he rolled, hitting the wall and making a crater sized dent. Jill looped one arm around its narrow throat and thrust her combat knife under the metal plating on the side of its face. It was angry now. It tossed, it turned, trying to throw her loose. Jill held on and pushed. The face plating squelched, ripping with a nearly wet sound as it pulled free with strands of rotting flesh and plopping blood. And now? Now the TALOS roared.

Jill stabbed it right in its roaring mouth. She ripped the knife out at its stifled mewl and drove it again into its face. It swung its arm at Chris blindly now and he ducked under it and moved into its attack zone. Copying her, he shoved his knife under the armor on its chest and started prying. It was making muffled sounds, it was turning and they were too close. It couldn't see them, it couldn't hit them. Jill anchored her knife and slit its throat. It burst with blood, spilling wet and gushing down as Chris jerked its chest plate off with a rip of rending flesh.

Jill jabbed her blind into its gushing throat, angled up toward the brain. Chris didn't bother with the knife. He lifted his shotgun, put it point black on its exposed chest, and fired. The TALOS jerked, it staggered. Jill, feeling it teeter, leaped off and rolled across the ground. Chris blasted it again, and again, while it careened and gushed and tumbled. It went down like a felled tree, hitting the ground on its back in a splashing red mess.

Jill was already moving toward the opposite door. It beeped at her. A computer voice, British and feminine, commanded, "Input login credentials now. Authorization required."

Jill considered, glancing at Chris as he put his shotgun on the face of the TALO and blew it apart for good measure.

And she typed: A. Wesker.

"Acknowledged. Input password."

What was the password? What was the answer?

What was the truth?

She blinked. She turned. And she typed: VERITAS.

"Access Granted. Please proceed."

The door rose and she moved into a small laboratory. The walls were lined with tiny tanks filled with experimental fetuses. Likely the early stages of something acquainted with that disgusting TALOS. Jill clicked on the computer that waited and it lit up. And there it was. All the data she'd need. All the data he'd need. All the data THEY'D need to destroy Umbrella.

She poked the floppy disk in her pocket into the drive and clicked the copy prompt. She keyed in the upload link and began sending it to the satellite server Leon had set up for them. She turned back and Chris was in the doorway watching her. There must have been something on her face.

"What is it? Jill?"

She turned. Over her shoulder, he could see the names, the logins, the numbers. He watched specimens and lab results flash by. There were equations and logarithms and endless reams of shit that he couldn't even begin to guess at. Her face, it was locked in shock and wonder.

Chris turned his eyes back to her. "That's it? On one fucking computer?"

"It's everything. It's everything. Oh my god. It's everything."

"Cheese and fucking rice…everything?"

"The whole bloody enchilada..."

He turned his eyes back from the computer to look at her again. "It's uploading?"

"Yeah. It's uploading."

"It's done."

"Wesker…he's still out there…." They held eyes. "But I think Umbrella is done."

It sounded surreal to even say it. It sounded surreal to even think it. Umbrella, for all intents and purposes, was finished. They were going to blow the conspiracy wide open. Wesker had lead them here? He was tied up in it. But he'd lead them here. Why? He would have to go underground now further than before. He'd screwed himself. Why would he?

The uplink was at 54% and beeped loudly. Jill turned back, clicking keys. "No wait…what? Wait. What is this?"

The screen flashed and the voice said, "Uplink aborted. Primary override has been activated. UMF 013 has been compromised. Red Queen activated and initiating self destruct sequence. Internal iplosion in t-minus three minutes."

"No!" Jill slapped the keys, desperate. 54%. It wasn't enough. Was it? Wasn't it? Who had stopped it. Her ear piece buzzed. And she had the answer.

"Jill, I've given you what you need. Finish Umbrella. I can't let you have the rest, I'm afraid I need it. I'll be taking it with me. Want it? Come find me. You have fifteen minutes to get out of there…and I should warn you…the TALOS has TWO forms."

Her headset clicked off.

Chris grabbed her arms. "What is it? Jill?"

"It's Wesker. It's Wesker. He's stopped the uplink. He's here somewhere."

Chris turned back and she grabbed his arm. She stuffed the floppy disk in her vest. "Wait! He's started the s—"

The British voice echoed around them. "SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE HAS BEEN INITIATED. FACILITY WILL REACH TOTAL SANITATION IN T-MINUS FIFTEEN MINUTES. PLEASE EVACUATE USING ALL PREVIOUSLY DESIGNED PROCEDURES."

They rushed into the room beyond and Jill took a broad sided hit to the face. She was thrown up and out. She hit the wall so hard it stole her breath. She heard him shout her name and the darkness clamped her skull and left her floating.

Chris was face to face with the mutated TALOS. It was enormous now. It stretched across the ceiling, it's spine bound it there in a jagged mess. It's legs were gone, burst into blood and chunks on the metal floor. It's arms were two sets of four razor sharp claws. It whipped spear like tentacles around its dangling body that aimed for him with a killer's glee.

Its mangled face was blind still. It was operating on instinct or drive or sound. He rolled, shifting silently. He gathered Jill against and pulled her safely into the computer room they'd left behind.

And he tugged a grenade off the front of his vest. Palming it, he walked back into the room. His pistol in one hand, the grenade in the other, Chris shouted, "You ugly mother fucker! What kind of piece of shit hits a woman like a BITCH?!"

Those tentacles whipped toward him, that ruined face turned. He let them smack his face and arms. It felt like being whipped with fire. It burned, he bled. He fired once into the ruined face and one of those massive claws grabbed him. He was threw his arm up to save it being compressed in his body. The TALOS roared from its ruined jaws and jerked him into the air. He felt those claws slice into his gear and try to find his skin beneath.

One of the tentacles wound around his throat. It raised him over its head. He bled, dripping red and wet onto its ugly face. He hurt. His whole body felt like it might squeeze his bones into jelly. Into dust. Into nothing. Chris waited, watching. It brought him closer and grabbed his lower body with its other claw.

So that was the plan. It was going to, literally, rip him in half. His vision with spotty as it compressed him from shoulders to toes. And he gasped, "You are the ugliest piece of SHIT, I've ever met. Say AH, you fucker."

He was right above its ruined jaws. He stuck the grenade pin in his mouth and jerked. It hurt his teeth. It pulled clean with a ping of metal.

Chris dropped it into that gaping maw.

It jerked on his body. His back popped painfully like a trip to the world's worst chiropractor, he gasped, "This is where I die cleaved in half and shitting myself." And the grenade went off.

TALOS worst meal gave him indigestion straight out of a Wes Craven movie. It burped fire, it belched guts, and its entire chest and upper abdomen EXPLODED. It sounding like plopping, popping, splattering goop and rot and rain of horror. It splatter painted the walls in a Jackson Pollack of macabre shit. There was nothing but smears and chunks and steaming pieces all over the room.

It dropped him as it twitched, as it gushed, as it died. He didn't bother to wait. He pulled the pin on another grenade and tossed it into the chest cavity that wept and showed that still beating, mangled, brutalized heart.

He rolled into the office, grabbed Jill against him, and tucked them both into the far wall.

The explosion was monstrous. It was massive. It shook the walls. He heard the sizzling, heard the splattering, and he saw the blood gush into the doorway like a lake of death. His bleeding arms and hands grabbed Jill and launched her over his shoulder. He rose, breathing fast and hard. He thundered into the room with the desecrated corpse of the TALOS. His boots tossed blood up around him as he ran, throwing it everywhere like a kid stomping playfully in a rain puddle.

He kicked the metal door blocking them and it whizzed upward, showing the way. The team was waiting on the train before them. He ran toward it and the self destruct sequence informed him they had three minutes to get to minimum safe distance.

The subway train roared forward as he was barely on. Petra dropped the hammer on the gas and it rocketed toward the end of the tunnel. Chris sat down on one of the benches and tucked Jill into his lap. His hands were feeling along her skull.

She had a lump and she was breathing. He was terrified of coma or concussion or death. Petra, leaving the controls to another team member, knelt beside him to look her over. She snapped a tiny capsule under Jill's nose and had the other woman gasping.

The unbelievable ROAR of sound and pressure drove them all to their knees or spilled them around like scattered bowling pins. The train squealed but was pushed forward by the explosion as fire whooshed and licked and destroyed around them. The upsurge sent the train careening around the tracks, tossing and trying to overturn.

One of the team shouted, "We're done for! GRAB ON!"

And Chris looped his arm around Jill, grabbed the bar above his head, and turned her against the wall. He pressed her body there with his as the explosion defeated the train. It derailed, screaming and throwing sparks of metallic pain into the air. It spun sideways as it raped across the rails, raking and tossing snaps of fire into the sky. It took its rickety ride another hundred feet and slowed to a stop, tipping sideways into the mountain of snow that waited there.

There was a puff of steam and smoke surrounded by a plume of snow that showered around the train car…and the world went quiet.

Chris leaned back to Jill's wide eyes on his face. He'd bled on her uniform and the side of her face. She whispered, "Is it done?"

"It's done." His answer was so quiet.

"You're ok?"

"Flesh wounds. Nothing. I'm fine."

Her hands came up and looped around his neck. He pulled her in and held her while he bled and the sun tipped its golden smile over the top of the burgeoning horizon. It was the dawn of a new day.

The first day…of the end of Umbrella.

…..

The fight wasn't over. They both knew it. As they coordinated with the government, the truth began to peel back in layers. It was endless. The transmissions caught going in and out of the chemical facility detailed endless phone calls and email's and faxes. It was pieces of Umbrella being sold to the highest bidder. The black market would be saturated now with assets in an attempt to insulate themselves and profit on the company's demise.

Ending Umbrella didn't mean the world was safe. It meant the world was fractured. The splinters and broken pieces of the dying beast would continue to destroy, continue to leech, continue to rot. Chris and Jill knew Wesker had the rest of the pieces. What hadn't been sold off was in his hands. He was now their greatest threat. They'd taken his greatest competition out of his way. They'd helped one enemy by stopping the other. That had been his end game all along. They were his puppets without even trying.

Chris barely spoke to her. He was too busy coordinating with Barry Burton and Clive O'Brian. The three had been in the service together and were old friends. Clive was the money man, the business mind. He was the suit. And as the long morning drug on, the four of them began to form the Bioterrorism Security Assessment Alliance. Their purpose? To eradicate and eliminate bioterrorist threats. The Federal of Pharmaceutical Companies was waiting for them to show up and convince them for funding. The ground work was down.

They needed a final push to agree.

It was decided that Clive, Barry, and Chris would go stateside and do the schmoozing. Jill was a lot of things, she wasn't a wooer of funds. Chris was bringing Anna to Claire for safe keeping while he was there. Jill said goodbye to the little girl at the airport. She hugged her and promised to come see her.

Chris was nowhere to be found for a goodbye. Disheartened, Jill waved to the plane as it taxied down the runway. She returned to the cottage to collect Dog. There was no reason to hide out anymore. The tide had turned. They were free now to regain their lives in the "real" world.

Jill rolled the tiny rickety jalopy up onto the narrow dirt path to the cottage. She tried not to let it bother her that Chris hadn't bothered to so much as wave goodbye. He was all dedication, all determination…she knew better then to try to get through to him when he was in terrier mode. He'd never rest until he got the BSAA off the ground. She was the last thing on his mind.

Why did it hurt so much to know it?

Jill alighted from the jalopy and heard the woof of excitement. Dog came barreling toward her and leaped up to lick her. Concerned on how he'd gotten out on his own, she lifted her eyes to the door of the cottage.

And it was Leon Kennedy standing there on the tiny porch.

Not the boy he'd been. Handsome. Buff. He wore a navy blue t-shirt and jeans. He wore brown boots and a smile. His blonde hair was still shaggy, still effortless, and still perfect. She lifted a brow at him.

"I think that's breaking and entering, Mr. Kennedy."

And that smile was still something to see.

"I think you owe me a debt, Jill Valentine."

She held his gaze. And her mouth turned up in a grin. "That's pretty cocky to fly all the way to Wales for a piece of ass."

And now he laughed, delighted with her. "So maybe I flew all the way to Wales for business…maybe the piece of ass is secondary."

"Maybe it is. I'm afraid I don't have shots for you to do off my ass at the moment."

He twisted his mouth to the side and he did something so adorable it made her belly tighten. He caught his lower lip in his teeth and looked a little sheepish. And then he lifted a bottle of vodka and shrugged.

Jill paused, tilting her head. She studied him. He was impossibly handsome. Gorgeous. It sparked in her belly. And he was HERE. She was the master of unlocking and of making poor sexual decisions.

And she was LONELY. She hadn't had a man in so long she'd forgotten what it felt like. She wanted to feel a man lie on top of her, for just a little while. It was nearly painful.

"Are you sleeping with Claire Redfield?"

Amused, he tilted his head at her. "An interesting question. Relevancy?"

That quirky little dialogue of his. She kinda adored it. "I don't like sloppy seconds."

And now he was so surprised that he burst out laughing. And that was all KINDS of charming. His laugh was full bodied and almost goofy. Hints of a boy that had tattooed a wolf on his shoulder to reboot his life. "No. You met Claire? She's all dedicated to the fight. She's not looking for that. We're friendly enough. We're not involved."

"Ever?"

"Nope. You sleeping with Chris Redfield?"

Jill laughed a little herself, almost to the porch now. "You care?"

"Nope."

And now she laughed again.

She stepped up the last step of the porch. Her fingers fisted in his shirt and tugged. He wasn't amused anymore. His free hand cupped her face and tilted it up to him.

Jill said, softly, "A promise is a promise." Her fingers eased up his shirt. And his stomach was ridiculous. It wasn't a six pack; it was eight. It was insane. "One amendment…"

Leon ran a thumb over her mouth. "All ears."

She tugged him down and kissed him. They were all tongues and teeth now. He was a lot of sucking and smooth rolling lips and movement. No rush here. He was all sleek and lilting want.

She grabbed the vodka bottle and jerked off the lid. She took a long swig of it and hissed. And she pushed him with one hand. He collapsed into the chair on the porch with a grin. Jill straddled his legs and sat down on his lap. She jerked his shirt over his head and threw it.

The cold air turned his skin to goosebumps and turgid nipples. And she dumped the vodka on that perfect chest. "Me first," She mused and had him laughing as she lowered her mouth to suck the spicy liquid from his fervent flesh. She rolled her mouth against him like a cat, tasting, sucking.

It was desperate. It was tearing hands and teeth and gasping. They made it half in the kitchen and over the table. She had him on the porch first with their clothes still half on. The sexual need of it thundered in her. She was undone, undaunted. She didn't care who he was. She didn't care what any of it meant. She wanted release. She wanted to rejoice. She wanted to achieve ORGASM and come and come and cry out and forget about bioterror and fear.

They rolled across the floor. She bounced on his lap and had him laughing. He was sleek and sweaty and finely muscled. His face was a wet dream. Gorgeous. She liked to watch it while she fucked herself stupid on his dick on the porch.

And she liked to watch it when they fell asleep on the couch stuck together with sweat.

It wasn't Chris. No. But it didn't matter. It was sex. And it was amazing.

She spent two days in the cottage fucking Leon Kennedy. It was perfect. It was just what she needed. He fucked like he did all things, methodical and deliberate and unending. He was no Chris Redfield. There was no fist, face, and finished with him. Leon played you, plucked you, and picked you up to deplete you until you lay gasping and used on the floor.

When he strapped on his watch and left, she kissed him goodbye on the porch. She'd kept her promise and he'd done plenty of shots off her ass. It was a good kiss goodbye. He didn't overdo it. He didn't linger. He cupped her face and worked her mouth and made her glow.

That was his gift to the world it seemed.

Amused, she watched him go. "It was nice working with you, Leon Kennedy."

That smile. It was part of the package. If he ever married, his wife was a lucky fucking woman. He leaned on the car, watching her in the early light. "Jill Valentine, I think I'm in love with you."

Laughing, Jill rolled her eyes. "I bet you say that to all the girls you spend two days throwing your dick to."

And now he laughed too. "Can't say I've ever spent two days with the same woman. So we'll agree to disagree. I'm gonna pretend we're not saying goodbye here. And just saying see ya later."

"I like that idea. Mr. Kennedy."

Laughing, he winked at her and climbed in his car.

Jill returned to the cottage. Dog was watching her with avid interest. She blinked, doing the dishes from their breakfast. Dog woofed at her. She glanced at his goofy face. "What?"

He was sitting next to the board. The board had a picture of Chris and Claire on it. Jill glanced at him. "What, Dog? What? He's not my boyfriend. I didn't do anything wrong. I needed SEX! I need it, Dog! Ok? I'm human! I let a super hot guy fuck me. What's wrong with that!?"

Dog gave her a bland look.

"Don't judge me, Dog. Ok? Just don't." She slapped her dish towel down and stormed out of the room. After about twenty minutes she came back from the shower still mad. "You know what, Dog? I wanted Chris to fuck me! I wanted him to fuck me. I did. But he's so fucking stupid. He's obsessed with Wesker and the damn BSAA and bioterror. And I'm a GIRL. A GIRL. I needed a man to look at me and want me. That guy who just left? He saw me. He came all the way to Wales to see me. I LIKE him! He's funny. And he's INSANELY hot. So I did it! How dare YOU judge me? Huh? Chris is probably stateside right now balls deep in a stripper! I didn't do ANYTHING WRONG!"

And she slammed the door to the bedroom.

Apparently, she was angry. She was also, it appeared, a little insane as she was shouting at a dog. But she was hurt. Chris had hurt her. He'd literally left without a backward glance. Apparently, that upset her.

And she meant it. She liked Leon Kennedy. He was funny. He was handsome. He was DYNAMITE in bed. What was wrong with no strings sex? Nothing. That was right.

Jill moved to the board where their pictures were all scattered. She jerked the picture of Chris off the board. And she flopped in the chair and laid it on her chest, staring at the ceiling...and sighing. The picture was the boy in Raccoon City. The boy who'd punched a cheating boyfriend and kissed a girl in the cold.

Was that boy even still inside of the man it had left behind?

…..

Federation of Pharmaceutical Companies (Double Helix Industries Headquarters) – 2003

Quarterly Gathering of Global Pharmaceutical Consortium Members

The man who'd once been that boy in Raccoon City wasn't balls deep in a stripper. He was, however, balls deep in conspiracy as he navigated the murky waters of corporate ass licking. He was trying to get the BSAA funded by uptight asshats that didn't know bioterrorism from bioorganic waste. He wasn't much of a schmoozer and wasn't the best at speeches. Barry was giving it his best. Clive was a WIZARD at making people listen.

The early talks were going to have Clive at the helm. In the service, he'd been a Captain. He'd been a man use to being in charge. He wasn't a field agent. Would never be a field agent. But he was hell on wheels in command.

Clive wore a three piece suit in navy. He was gesturing. His voice was impassioned. His handsome, hang dog face was animated. Barry, in brown, his beard trimmed and hair still damp from a shower, would add his two cents when instructed. The flipped slides, they showed data, they handed out charts.

Chris wore a gray suit with a blue tie. He kept scanning faces of those who sat around the large conference table. There was little to tell by expressions. They all looked bored or stupid. They weren't, to be the best at what they did, but they looked it.

Finally, a woman spoke, "Mr. Redfield, you've been quiet this whole time. You come rather questionable roots here. Your conduct in Raccoon City had you as an upstart, a liar, and sometimes even a loon. After losing your team at the Spencer Mansion in the Arklay Mountains, you went off the rails. You got yourself fired. Would you like to tell us why?"

"Irons was dirty," He rose now, moving to the data on the screen. He circled his finger and Barry flipped a slide to show Chief Brian Irons, "Irons was in Umbrella's pocket. I knew it. I needed to prove it. To do that? I needed him off my ass. I told no one. I just acted up to get canned."

"You didn't even inform your co-conspirator in your two man operation?" The woman glanced at the file in front of her, "Jill Valentine?"

"No. I wanted her insulated. I wanted her protected. I didn't tell her."

The woman eyed him again. "Why do you need my money, Mr. Redfield? I've heard the corporate BS. Now give me the real answer."

Chris held her look. She was beautiful in a haughty and interesting way. She had slick blonde hair in a severe bun and dark eyes under dark brows. He lifted a brow at her and liked the no bullshit. Wasn't it his motto?

"Ms. Lennox, Raccoon City was a nightmare. It had to be completely sanitized. I have seen things that I could spend days describing to you. Jill Valentine? She was in the heart of the outbreak there. She literally survived a burning city. Families, entire cities, wiped off the face of the earth because these people play gods amongst men. If we don't stop them? They will eventually destroy the entire world. I can't sit there and watch that happen. I'm not willing to bury any more innocent people while the bad guys win. If you don't fund me, I'll find someone who will. I will not stop until I destroy every last fucking person interested in using people like guinea pigs. That's how I sleep at night."

It was a helluva speech for a man not known for them. She eyed him and then she nodded. She turned to the rest of the table and gestured with her head. They rose, they gathered files. She turned back to him, "Mr. Redfield, a moment in my office please?"

Chris glanced at Barry and Clive. They gave him nods of approval.

Barry actually looked proud of him which was a good feeling.

Chris followed her four inch ice pick heels and her little black pencil skirt into a huge office that was three quarters windows over the New York skyline. She leaned on her enormous mahogany desk and crossed her ankles. "I'm assuming you don't recognize me."

Chris lifted a brow at her, considering. "I'm sorry. Should I?"

"I used to serve you drinks at J's Bar about a hundred years ago. It's a long climb from waitress to partner of one of the biggest pharmaceutical companies in the known world. So I would assume not."

Chris blinked at her and really studied her face. And he finally said, with laughing surprise, "Cindy?!"

Cindy Lennox, one of Jill's best friends, and another survivor of Raccoon City. She smiled sweetly at him and struck up a cigarette from a tiny case on her desk. She offered him one and had him grinning as he took it.

"So they tell me. The Federation consists of all major players in the pharmaceutical game, Chris. I'm an easy sell. Double Helix will back you. Tricell will fall in line quickly enough. I've seen what that shit can do unleashed on a city first hand. If it wasn't for our merry band of hapless survivors that night, we'd all be dead with the rest of the ghosts that still haunt that burnt out husk." She turned a little toward him. He was aware of her fingers shifting to rub the lapel of his suit. "How is Jill?"

Chris glanced at her mouth as it made a curl of smoke. "She's good. You haven't spoken?"

"We have. Who do think called to get me to pull the strings here for this meeting?"

Jill.

Goddamn she was the most clever thing on Earth. And he'd left her behind like some arrogant prick to sit there and wait. Sometimes he was, potentially, the dumbest man alive.

"She was always smarter than me."

Cindy made a little sound and looked up at him. That beard, she thought, it was murder on the hormones. She studied his face, "She was into you back then. So I blew you off. How'd that work out for you?"

Amused, he shifted a little closer to her. "We're close friends."

"Friends?"

"Yep. Good friends. I'm a good friend to have."

Cindy curled both hands around his lapels. "Hmm. I heard that somewhere. I'll back your play about the BSAA, Chris. I always knew you were wasted sitting on the sidelines in the RPD. And I want to see the world protected from something like Raccoon City every happening again. I'll get the other heads to turn to the idea too, if they haven't already."

Curious, he watched her thumbs stroke his tie now. "I'll bite. Why?"

"One – I think you're right. Bioterrorism is a global threat. It needs stopped. And I believe you will never give up until its finished. And Two – I'd like to take you home and sleep with you. And I think helping you get your company funded might just make you eager to celebrate."

Turned on, interested, and HIGHLY amused, Chris tilted his head at her, "You trying to buy sex with funding, Cindy? I think they call that solicitation."

Cindy laughed a little and dragged him to her, "Maybe. You interested in being solicited?"

In answer, he slid his arms around her and jerked her against him to kiss her laughing mouth.

He spent the night celebrating the birth of the BSAA with Cindy. He left her gasping and sweaty and fulfilled the next morning when he went to pick up Anna to bring her to Claire. She was quiet in the car beside him as he drove.

The early morning light made her little freckles look adorable on her nose.

Chris touched her a little and put a lock of red hair behind her ear. "You want to tell me what's wrong?"

Anna glanced at him. They always poke primarily in English. It was helping her learn the language.

"I don't want you to go. I want to stay with you."

Touched, he let her curl against his side while he drove. "This isn't goodbye, Anna. It's just for now while I finish what I'm doing here. I have to stop the people who did this. You know that."

Anna hugged his big chest with her skinny arms. "Who will I live with?"

"Claire, my sister, has a nice family lined up for you. Big yard and a dog. Swingset. Good schools. It's not Russia, Anna. You'll be safe and happy there."

Anna made a little sound against his chest and he knew she was crying. Undone, he eased the car into the parkinglot of TerraSave's headquarters and parked, turning toward her. She wept so quietly as he held her that it broke his fucking heart.

"I don't want to be with family. I want to be with you. Won't you adopt me? I will be good daughter to you."

Jesus Christ. His chest hurt.

He stroked her soft hair and put his cheek on the top of her head, holding her. "What kind of life can I give a girl, Anna? I have to fight. I can't be your Dad and die on you. How fair is that to you?"

Anna shook her head, passionately, "I want you to be family. I will protect you. You will protect me. We will be safe. Yes?"

He was quiet for so long, Anna lifted her head to look at him. "You do not want to be family?"

He held her close. The skinny little thing that shew was. She was barely seven years old. Too wise, too jaded, too lose to be so little. He knew what the right answer was. He knew it. But he didn't like the right answer. And she was right. Who said no to family?

So he said, "Stay with the foster family, Claire has lined up. Stay with them while I get things in order. You deserve a better father then me, Anna. Don't you want a sweet family that takes vacations and trips and offers you the world?"

Anna shook her head, hard, "You don't want me?"

Oh god. He held her gaze. She weighed maybe forty five pounds. She was small and sweet and had tried to save his life in the snow. He knew nothing about being a father or raising a kid. His life was dangerous and full of uncertainty. And he kept looking at the little red hair girl and seeing his mother's face.

He held her out of the car and picked up her bag. She was quiet now as she held his hand and they walked toward the TerraSave building. The doors opened and a red haired girl that wasn't so small and scraggly emerged. His baby. His baby sister all grown up. Her hair was in a red bun atop her flawless face. And THERE was his mother. In the slant of her eyes and the smile on her face.

She wore a pair of jeans and a green sweater. Pieces of her red hair kept slipping loose to be tucked behind her ears. She put her hand on her mouth and made a sound. Tears filled her eyes at the sight of him.

They had the same eyes. And both sets were misty now.

"You big IDIOT."

Chris laughed a little, wetly, "I also answer to Chris."

Claire ran toward him. He opened his free arm and she hit him so hard as she threw herself into his arms that it stole his breath. She tried to squeeze the life out of his body holding on to him. She kissed his bearded cheek and rubbed her hands over his pathetic hair.

"What look is this? Man of the mountain?"

"Something like that."

Claire touched the wounds on his neck and face. "What have you done?"

"Saved the day."

"Idiot. Big fucking hero." She turned her eyes down to the little girl beside him and knelt down. It was a mirror. They were looking in a mirror. "Hi honey. I'm Claire. You must be Anna."

Anna clung to his arm and hip, watching her nervously.

Chris stroked her soft hair. "It's ok, sweetheart. Claire's a little odd but she doesn't bite."

Claire gave him a dirty look and glanced back at Anna, "I have some people really excited to meet you. Would you like to come say hello?"

Anna glanced up at him. She shook her head no. She shook it again and let go of him. And she hurried away to the back side of the car.

With sympathy, Claire rose to face him. "She's not ready?"

"She wants me to adopt her."

Claire glanced at him in surprise. "That's not wise."

"I know it." Chris glanced at her huddled behind the car with her backpack and her doll crushed in her arms. He'd given her the doll when they'd landed in the states. It had blue eyes and red hair, like her. "…I want to adopt her."

Claire grabbed his arm and squeezed. He glanced at her face and she was teary eyed.

"Chris…honey…sweetheart…that's very noble. And I LOVE you for it. But you can't offer that girl a life right now. Not a real one. She needs comfort and stability and gentleness."

"I can't give her that?"

Claire rubbed his arm now. "No. Not now, Chris. With what you do? Who will take care of her while you're on some mission risking your life? It's ok to love her. It's good to love her. I LOVE how big your heart is. Mom is so proud of you somewhere. She is. But she'd tell you a little girl needs a family, Chris."

Chris slid a hand over his head and nodded. "Yeah. I know that. I know that. I gave up Jill to fight bad guys. I gave up my career to chase them. I gave up my life to hide out while I did it. What's one more thing right? Why not?"

He stepped toward the back of the car. Claire hurt, watching him do it. She wanted him to adopt the little girl. His face said he loved her. Claire knew, in her fucking bones, he'd be a wonderful father. He was nothing but love and light and truth. But the fight had stolen that dream from him. He wasn't meant for it now. Maybe not ever. And he'd do right by the little girl he'd saved. Even at the cost of his own happiness.

She saw him speak softly to her and the little girl threw her arms around him, weeping. His face was so pained, so wounded…Claire wanted to protect him and didn't know how. So instead she waited and did nothing.

He lifted her and carried her forward…and they took her inside to meet her new family.

….

The phone rang in the early morning. Jill rolled to get it. Her hand slid over it and put it to her ear. The base fell to the floor with a clunk and bong of bells. "Yo…yeah? Hello?"

"Hey."

She blinked, gritty eyed but coming awake. "Hey, Red. You ok? Jesus, what time is it?"

"I think it's like…2 am? I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking. I just…"

Jill blinked fully awake now. His voice was something. It was so lost. It sounded so sad. "Chris?"

"The BSAA is a go."

Jill sat up in the small bed. "That's AWESOME. That's great! I knew you could do it!"

"Yep. Sold it like the cure for cancer. So it's done."

"….why do you sound so sad?"

She heard him shift. She did so too. She lifted her knees and laid her forehead against them. "Spill the beans, Redfield. What's eating you?"

"I took Anna to her foster family today."

Jill opened her eyes fully and cuddled the phone like she could touch him. Her heart ached. "Oh, Chris. It was bad?"

"I want to be her father."

Jill put her hand to her mouth and held back the sound of grief there. She was nodding and finally spoke, softly, "I know you do."

His voice broke, which nearly killed her, "I had an idea once that I'd be someone's father. I had an idea I'd be someone's husband. When I met you? It was you, Jill. You were fat and pregnant and popping out my babies and loving me. When did that dream die?"

Impossibly sad, she whispered, "In Raccoon City."

"Yeah. If I'd adopted her…would I have been a good father to her?"

That answer was easy. Jill said, softly, "Yes. There's nothing in you but love. Do you want to adopt her, Chris? You can. What's stopping you?"

"I can't raise her. I have to stop Wesker. I have to stop them all. I can't raise her. What kind of life is that?"

Jill touched the picture of him beside her on the bed. She bled for him. She died a little for him. She cried a little for him. "Are you done there? All finished?"

"Looks that way."

"Buy a ticket for Terragrigia and meet me there."

He was so quiet. She waited. And he finally said, "Vacation?"

"A few days of it. We need it Chris. Before we go back to fighting…let's just…take a break."

The right answer was simple here. It was what they both needed. It was one word. So, he said it and gave them both a little peace, "Yes."

And it was the first time in years they both breathed…and just took a break.


	19. Chapter 19

XIX: The Devil's Bargain

:::::::::::::Nineteen:::::::::

Jill was in Terragrigia for nearly two months before he arrived. She and Dog enjoyed the hell out of the sun and the sand and the sea air. She went diving, she went snorkeling. She took in the town. The city was the first of its kind. Conceived and constructed over more than a decade, Terragrigia was the first solar city entirely powered by solar and aquatic power, making it, literally, the most ecological city in the world.

It rose from the ocean like a Leviathan. It offered the world the view of towers and skyscrapers amidst endless sparkling sea. The ocean was its bosom, embracing the burgeoning aquapolis in its embrace as a caring mother. Glass and metal winked and twinkled in the warm burst of the sun that offered her rays as power to the people that dwelled there. It was hard not to be charmed and impressed with each shop owner that smiled and offered wares and each child that laughed and awed with delight over the beauty of the solar panels against the cloudless sky.

She nearly forgot that life wasn't peaceful while she moved through the sprawling city. She nearly forgot she wasn't normal while she sat on the beach and watched children play. She nearly forgot she wasn't safe while she enjoyed a quiet moment at a café with a newspaper and coffee.

And then the Devil sat down across from her.

The laughing across the street sound dim and warbling now. She had her coffee halfway to her lips. Jill Valentine and Albert Wesker faced each other in the sprawling aquapolis of Terragrigia and were silent.

The waitress, a pretty girl in blue with pigtails, stopped by to take his order. He ordered water and then dismissed her with a smile and lifted hand. She left, thinking how cute the couple was having Sunday Brunch together.

He finally spoke, swirling an ice cube in the empty glass in front of him.

He was in black and black with those fucking dark sunglasses on. His blonde hair looked sunshine bright. His skin was pale and perfect. "Jill...have you been avoiding me?"

She held his gaze for a long, long moment. And her voice was cold. "Wesker, I would love to stop avoiding you. Let's go upstairs and I'll show you how much I've NOT been avoiding you."

Wesker chuckled, amused. "Jill, I have things to teach you. Sadly…I don't think you're ready. What do you fight for, Jill?"

Jill shifted and rose from the table. She moved around to him. She put one on either side of his chair and turned it so he faced her. And she leaned down until they were nose to nose. It amused him. His mouth was a wolfish grin.

"Revenge, you son of a bitch. And justice. I'm going to find them both in your blood." They both looked down at the knife she had so cleverly hidden against his sternum. It looked like she was going to kiss him.

"How badly will you fight when you've lost everything, Jill? Should I take him from you to watch you rise? Once I thought it was him. Now, I KNOW…it's you. Join me. I can finish teaching you. I will make you a new world and we will rule it together."

Jill hooked her free hand and one finger into the edge of his sunglasses and slid them two inches down his nose. And there was what Chris had meant. His eyes…they were reptilian. They were red and gold and inhuman. They were split like the eye of a snake with a vertical pupil. In a way, they were beautiful. Gold at the edges and haunting. And they were terrifying. Because he'd been missing pieces as a man…as a monster? He was utterly empty.

Jill held his look from inches away. "Join you? I have a knife at your heart, Wesker. What makes you think I want to join you? I could kill you, right now. And NO ONE would care."

The waitress came back toward the table. Wesker caught the back of her neck and drew her into him. His mouth sealed to hers and her knife slipped into his chest. She felt the meaty thunk of it as it hit the breastbone and lodged there.

The waitress filled their drinks with a giggle and hurried away.

Wesker released her neck and she slid back from him. The knife came with her. And it was the moment she knew they had to find another way now to end him. Because she'd stabbed him in the chest and he was barely bleeding. He was BARELY BLEEDING. It was a heart blow.

He should be DEAD.

He was smiling.

"There will come a time that you choose me, Jill. Soon enough. Keep pretending you are his. Keep playing at it." He rose from the table. He came around it and dropped a napkin on the table in front of her. "Remember, Jill…when lost in the abyss…consider the queens you serve. Consider the truth. And look to the false hound for answers."

"Enough of your fucking riddles." She grabbed his wrist. "What's your end game here?"

Wesker leaned over her now in the chair and spoke against her mouth, "Complete…global…saturation…what else is there? Join me or die, Jill. The choice is yours. Give Chris my regards…won't you?"

He turned and slipped away into the throng of eager patrons.

Jill remained at the table, breathing. She shifted and found her hands were cold. It was a balmy 80 degrees and she was freezing. She put her face in her hands and shuddered.

After a long moment, she finally paid her check and went home. She was aware now, aware, that she was probably being watched the whole time.

She didn't relax for weeks after she saw him. But he didn't pop up again. If he was still there, he was lying low. She redoubled her efforts to find a way to kill him.

From her apartment above the bustling city, Jill worked on interviewing staff for the BSAA. Eager candidates were pouring in from all over. She had interest from all branches of the military and private sector. She had interviews, sometimes four a day, with candidates with varying kills sets from munitions to breaking and entering. She met with former Federal Biohazard Commission members looking for a more hands on gig. She met with eager recruits from local law enforcement.

She took a phone call from Leon Kennedy one morning over eggs.

"Mr. Kennedy."

"Jill Valentine," She could picture his smile, "I hear good things are happening for you and the BSAA."

"That's the rumor. And a good one at that." She was smiling, picturing that face of his. She pictured that face of his between her legs and liked that image too. "What rates the phone call this fine Sunday morning?"

"Maybe I missed you and wanted to hear your voice."

Amused, Jill lifted a brow. "I'm gonna guess it's not that."

"Well that's somewhat true." And he laughed now, harmlessly. That was thing about him. She could flirt with him from now until the end of time and it would never be anything but harmless. So maybe they'd screwed like teenagers for a handful of days at one point. Maybe that was true. But it was just something had been delightful, delicious, and done. It didn't even FEEL awkward. It was just good. "How've you been Jill?"

"Good actually. I'm interviewing a former USSTRATCOM agent this morning in fact. Mira Vaughn?"

"Mira!" And he hooted a laugh now. "Mira Mira Mira. Good girl. Mouthy. Hell on wheels with a sniper rifle. Probably the best I've ever seen in terms of hand to hand."

"I heard that was you." Jill smirked a little.

And she heard him laugh again, "Besides me, of course. And you."

"You heard I'm good with hand to hand?"

"I've seen that up close, darlin. I KNOW you're good with those hands."

Mr. Flirty. It made her smile to hear it. Jill chuckled. "You telling me to hire her?"

"Yeah. She's got a little problem with authority but I can't blame her on this end. The bosses here can be up tight and a pain in the ass."

Jill was nodding, writing on the file for Mira Vaughn. "You seem to have a pretty loose leash, Leon. What's the secret there?"

"I'm an asshole. But I'm also the fucking best at what I do. And honestly? I'm a guy. The old boys club I work for isn't exactly progressive."

"Got it," Annoyed with the sexism in their field, Jill got it indeed, "Thanks for the heads up. Now what can I do for you?"

And he was laughing again. Jill smirked, charmed. "A loaded question. But in the interest of saving time and energy, I'll tell you about Il Veltro. And tell you why I need the BSAA to back my play."

Jill lifted a brow and settled back in the little chair she was sitting in. "The Greyhound? I'd heard things while we were searching. Why not run them down yourself?"

"Honestly? I've got rumors of my own to chase here. I've been hearing whispers of Los Illuminados. I'm balls deep in trying to find out more. Why not help a guy out and split the trouble?"

Jill smirked a little. "I'd love to. A nice jumping off point for the BSAA. I'll start tugging lines on this end. Can you get me somebody with the Italian side of the FBC?"

"Absolutely. You want Parker Luciani. He's a good dude. And reminds me of Barry…if Barry had class and an Italian accent."

Jill chuckled. "Thank you. As always. Always nice hearing your voice, Mr. Kennedy."

"You as well, Jill Valentine. I'll call you later to talk dirty to you."

Laughing, Jill hung up the phone and tossed it on the desk in front of her. She notated things on Mira Vaughn's file. She'd already met with a brilliant little man named Quint Cetcham. Quint was a rather interesting and socially awkward man with an IQ that was nearly off the charts. He was a Star Wars fanboy and wore a shirt beneath his suit jacket the said May the Forks Be With You and showed a drawing of the entire cast as silverware. The utter brilliance of him was manifested in reviews from his previously position. He'd served on the FBC for a year straight out of five years as a researcher for the FBI. He had created gadgets that George Lucas would have been proud of. And he was hilarious. His missing social filter allowed him to crack jokes that had no redeeming merit whatsoever. He'd hit on Jill, apologized, fell out of his chair and farted all during a single forty five minute interview.

She was fairly certain Chris would LOVE him.

He was utterly and completely socially inept.

So far Jill had check marks next to a variety of candidates and had crossed off others. Keith Lumley – a former police sergeant looking for a new role in life. Gertrude (Gertie) Skaarsgard - a Swedish ex-militia member with a talent for blowing things up. Diane Lockhart – a former military strategist known for her ability to manipulate anything and anyone. Joel Denver – a fresh faced highschool genius with a degree in virology and computer science. He was Doogie Houser with viruses. He was Rebecca Chambers with a penis. He was a STEAL if he accepted the job.

She had four more yes and six nos. It had been a productive month without Chris. While he'd run around finishing up opening doors for the funds to start flowing and getting the other members of the community to start shaking hands, she'd been here staffing their brand new baby with qualified and dedicated soldiers. She had the slightly better deal. She was in the warm and sunny aquapolis paid for courtesy of the GPC and Chris was running around the ugliest parts of Russia making small talk with communists.

It seemed an unfair trade.

She jotted down a few more notes on her next interview and went to change into her bikini. She'd promised Dog a trip to the water to surf and eat tacos. She was keeping the promise before the next interview needed to happen.

She slipped on a little blue bikini over her tanned skin. The bikini was dark metallic blue and shiny. It matched the little blue anklet she wore with charms and the little blue flip flops she slid on her feet. One of her gifts to herself on arriving in Terragrigia had been a tiny belly button ring. It winked silver and sapphire at her as she fixed her top and poked her breasts in the sad excuse for cloth. The tiny panties of the suit had a gold chain that rode low on her taut, toned, and defined belly.

She was golden from fun in the sun for a month. Her hair was shot through with natural sunny highlights. The rich dark tan brought out the blue of her eyes and made them nearly husky light around the thickness of her lashes. Jill slicked on some cherry lip gloss and grabbed her beach bag from the chair beside the door.

There was knock on the suite door before she could gathered Dog and get out of there. Curious, Jill glanced at her watch. It wasn't time for her interview yet. Maybe it was room service with towels. The condo apartment she was renting was GREAT about cleaning and towels. Honestly, she felt pampered and appreciated it. She didn't feel like leaving…ever.

She opened the door with a smile.

He hadn't shaved, she thought a little wildly when she saw him there, that beard was trying to make her come in her pants just looking at him. His hair had grown out enough to look adorable and rugged on his face. He wore dove gray slacks and a match vest left open over a short sleeved white t-shirt. It looked like he'd just come from the airport and some kind of meeting. But his feet were adorably bare beneath the gray slacks so he'd clearly stopped at his condo and dropped off his bags.

Dog let out an excited woof and wedged between Jill and Chris to leap and lick and roll his body against him. Laughing a little, Chris knelt to pet him. They greeted each other with love and devotion. It thrilled her to see it. She'd missed him so much it actually physically HURT her. Keep pretending you're his, Wesker had said, keep pretending. There was no pretending. She was his. He was hers. It was true. It was the way it was.

And seeing him again kept thrusting that home in her heart like a knife in the breastbone of an enemy who wouldn't die. She couldn't kill how she felt about Chris any more than she could kill Albert Wesker. She'd taken the devil's bargain and sold her soul…and now she was sharing it with the man in front of her and trying to trade the rest of it to save him from the one that haunted his.

"Flight went ok? I thought you weren't do in for another week." Jill queried, stepping back to let him into the condo with her.

The condo was done in pretty pastel shades of green and pink and blue. It was seashells and starfish and silver dollars and silver candles and pretty white couches. A typical beach condo with wicker furniture and a kitchen table made of light oak wood. The walls were pretty pale pink like the inside of a seashell.

"It was fine actually." He rose, watching her move. She was barely wearing anything. Her legs were ten feet long and her ass looked like a golden playland. "I was sick to death of being on the road."

"Can't blame you. You want to throw on some trunks? I have an interview in a few hours but I was just going to go toss some frisbee and surf the waves with Dog."

"Sure." He watched her turn to set her beach bag down and move into the bedroom. He followed her, curious. She was digging in the closet. And she pulled out a pair of swimming trunks in red with white hibiscus flowers on them. "Ta-DA! I was thinking of you today. I picked them up. Fate? Potentially. Maybe I'm psychic and new you'd be here today."

He leaned in the doorway watching her. She kept trying to make him smile. His face wasn't amused. She knew he'd taken it hard to not be able to adopt Anna. She wanted him so badly to be happy and free. Things were going good. How did she get him to focus on that?

She'd try honesty. "I missed you, Chris Redfield. Don't stay gone that long anymore."

She offered him the trunks when he said nothing. She felt her belly shiver with something like fear when he just stood there, looking at her. "Talk to me. Tell me what's wrong. Please?"

He shook his head and lifted his hands. He slid the gray vest off and tossed it over the dresser. His hands caught the hem of the white shirt and whipped it over his head. And there it was, Jill thought desperately, his body. It was all muscled. It was a fine scattering of hair across his upper chest. It was those tattoos and scars and muscle. His stomach was etched, it was what he'd been pushing toward in Raccoon City. It was a washboard with a belly button. His arms were flexed without even trying now. His shoulders were still promising he could take more muscle if he wanted. It spilled to the lines in his hips that made her mouth water.

He undid the top button his pants and she glimpsed his happy trail. And damn him..DAMN HIM…she didn't see anything else. He couldn't be a gentlemen and wear some fucking underwear? Was he trying to kill her where she stood?

He glanced over at her. "You would not BELIEVE the amount of shit it takes to get a company running. Paperwork and red tape and bullshit. It's like pulling teeth and shitting where you eat and waiting. Awful."

"Hmm." She was watching his pants hanging around his hips. He scratched his belly and took a long pull off the beer in his hand. She turned her gaze to the opening of his pants. She could just make out the line of his dick…maybe…in those perfectly pleated gray pants. They looked soft. She pictured herself reaching in them and fisting him while he gasped and tried to fight her off.

Her mouth was watering.

Jill turned to give him a little privacy and set the trunks on the bed as she stepped into the bathroom. She washed her hands and splashed water on her face. She lifted it to stare at herself. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a second.

In the bedroom, Chris ground his teeth together a little. She had a belly button ring. She had tiny ring in that perfect naval. She had a belly button ring. He glanced at himself in the mirror beside the bed. He rubbed his fingers together like he could feel her. He want to tug her panties down her legs and push her against the mirror and fuck her while she cried out. He could see the press of her breasts against the reflective glass. He could see her face in the mirror while he filled her up. She'd cry out so pretty, like a bird singing, and he'd turn her to the side and feed her his tongue while she came around his dick like a dying thing.

Christ…he had to get himself to the bar on the beach and get a woman. Or he was going to throw Jill on the floor and rape her. The idea of it spilled into his blood and made him insane.

She emerged from the bathroom and he wasn't in the swim trunks. He was still standing there looking at his phone with his pants half hanging on his hips.

She ground her teeth a little.

Jill made a little sound. "I missed you Chris."

He glanced up from his phone at her. "I missed you too, Jill."

"Damnit." She murmured it and moved toward him.

He was checking emails on Blackberry, flipping the little wheel to scan through them. He said, "I would rather fight BOWS every day, all day then sit through another series of board meetings. There are so many better things I could be doing with my time."

"Like fucking?" She almost growled it.

"What?"

He glanced up and she shoved one hand on his sternum to push him into the wall and the other down his pants. He barely had a chance to do anything but gasp. She fisted him in her palm. She closed her fingers around the length of him and he was almost instantly pulsing hard in her milking grasp.

His Blackberry dropped to the floor and his hands caught her face. "Holy shit."

That sounded about right.

Jill laughed a little, rasping, "Liar. Idiot. You're hard."

"Jesus Christ…" Her face looked possessed for him. She milked him like a whore and her mouth. It was filthy.

"You hard for me? Did you show up here and throw off your clothes to make me insane? Jesus Christ, Chris, I had a wet dream about you this morning. Do you know that?" She stepped into him, stroking, thumb slipping over his dewy tip. She nipped his chin and licked his throat while she tortured him, "I tied you up. I tied you to the headboard over there. You liked it. You let me."

She was whispering and licking. She was licking and jerking. She was taunting and tugging. "You let me bite you…here…" And she bit his throat. "And here." And she bit his collarbone. "And here…" And the meat of his chest.

He was panting. He was gasping. He couldn't find his fucking voice to make a single word.

"I hurt you a little. You bled…like this." And she bit enough to send little teeth print marks on his chest. He grunted and her fist was slick with all his pre-cum now as she fisted him. "And you begged me. I liked you begging. Beg me now, Chris. Ok? Beg."

Jill put her teeth against his left nipple and sucked it into her mouth. She was merciless, she was determined. She rolled her shoulder and her arm and went from tip to balls, assaulting him with that clever palm and those needy fingers. Chris grunted and she watched the blood rush to the surface of his fever skin as she tongued across his chest and bit him.

He made a sound and tunneled his fingers into her hair. She jerked the zipper on his pants they spilled to the floor around him. Her other hand cupped his heavy sac and played with him. She had her hands all over his junk and was making him insane with it.

He wanted to say something to her. But he couldn't do anything but hold on to her as she stole his breath and licked long lines of hunger all over his stomach.

She looked up the line of his body at him, "Beg me."

And he finally rasped it out, it was low and painful, "Please."

She was wet just hearing him say it.

Jill caught his face and pulled him back to feed him her tongue. Desperate, dying, she shoved him into the wall so hard she heard him grunt. And she dropped to her knees. Her mouth dove onto his body like she'd eat him alive. Undone, he actually made some kind of cry that had her wet just hearing it, she swallowed as much of him as she could get and had his eyes crossing with it.

Chris twisted his fingers into her hair and held on, watching her devour him. The suckling, wet, thrilling sound of it mixed with the gentle rush of the ocean beyond the open terrace doors beside the bed. Jill grabbed his hips and sunk in against his body until he hit the back of her throat and she gagged. But she didn't give up, she swallowed the whole length of him and stole his soul.

He pulled her off him with a desperate gasp from her as she found her air. He spilled to his knees to kiss her and pull her into him. They dueled, dying for each other, sucking and nipping and biting until both were swollen and singing with it.

Jill rolled to her feet and backed up toward the bed. She beckoned to him with her hand and he moved. He rose. They eyed each other now like predators.

She took one step and then another. He was already moving. She met him in the center of the floor. She leaped and her legs wrapped around his waist. His hands caught her face and brought her to him. It was a wet, sloppy, almost painful kiss. It was tongues and gasps and sucking.

They broke for air and she slid down his front while they both made sounds. He jerked at the ties of her bikini top and threw it aside, filling his hands with her. Made for him, they fit perfectly in the tugging, cupping, taking curve of his palms. He put his mouth on her, all teeth and wet suckling.

They shared a sloppy, tongue rolling kiss and she shifted, sitting up on his lap. She caught his hands and held them down over his head and she shifted her hips and humped back. It was hard. And it was painful. She impaled herself on him with a scream of want muffled against his mouth.

He tried to lift his hands to hold her and she made a little noise. "No."

"Jill…Jilly…honey…be easy…I'll hurt you…"

She opened her eyes to look down at him. She ground herself on him. It hurt so good she nearly came from it alone. She shuddered. He made a little sound of greed and it rocked her in her bones. They kissed, eyes open, wet. And she said, voice raspy and desperate as she swirled her hips with him buried inside of her, "There's no boss to tell us what to do. There's no bad guys beating down my door. For the first time, ever, there is just you and me here…just us. Stop worrying about hurting me. Stop worrying about any of it. I have missed you in my fucking soul, Chris Redfield. Stop being a boyscout and fuck me."

He held her gaze and craned his neck. She dropped her mouth to kiss him. It was smooth and soft. She leaned back a little and he said, softly, "You can do better."

She sat down on him completely. It shoved him hilt deep into her. And it hurt. The sharpness of it, the deepness of it, his size alone with her on top…it was pain. And it was delicious. She cried out and slapped his chest.

Chris grabbed her hips and lifted her. She trembled, holding his eyes. She whispered, "Again."

And he jerked her down on him.

She raked her nails down his chest and brought his breath out in a hiss.

Chris grabbed her throat in his hand and drug her down to him. He fucked her mouth with his tongue while she shivered and her body clenched around him. "Cheese and rice, Jill. Do it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Now."

She threw his hands back over his head and held him down. And then she rode him. And she wasn't gentle. She threw her body down on him like she was trying to kill herself. She lifted, she dropped, and she used the power of her thighs and her hips to drive him insane. He grunted, he gasped, his body broke in rivulets of sweaty need.

She let go of his arms to rise above him, a sweaty, slick, determined goddess that rocked his soul and claimed his body. His hands skimmed up and palmed her breasts, rolling her, holding her while she slapped and slid and sucked him into her. She slid her nails against each delineated muscle of his stomach, molding, and making him insane.

He sat up and they slapped together in a sticky mess of arms and torsos. Jill clung as he lifted her against his front, her legs wrapped around his waist. He walked and dumped her on the bed, jerked her to the end of it while he stood there and she opened her thighs wider to receive him. His hands leveraged her hips and jerked her into him.

The hammer of his body obliterated her. She screamed, bouncing, thrusting back against him as he plowed her waiting heat with each inch of his needy cock. When it wasn't deep enough, wasn't hard enough for them, Chris caught her under the hips and flipped her over on all fours.

He knelt behind her and grabbed a handful of her hair. She shouted his name, grabbed a handful of his thigh and thrust so hard into his ramming body that they nearly killed each other. She wasn't sure who was grunting, who was screaming, who was coming. Both of them, either of them. She spilled to her face and he kept on plowing into her while he rolled her half to the side and she kept on rolling until he was on top of her and her legs were over his arms.

They slapped so hard together it hurt them both. It had to. He grabbed her face with her knees draped over his arms and she grabbed his ass to shove him into her faster, deeper, longer. It was the smell and sound and wet sucking noises of hard, brutal, needy fucking. Jill was gasping ohgodohgodohgod as if it were one word. He kept on grunting with each punishing thrust to the center of her. He felt the spongy give of her cervix with each plow. She slapped his chest and pushed and rolled him.

She mounted him and rode him manically, mewling. It hurt so good it was nearly blinding. Her body was his glove, his sleeve, his undying, unending vessel of pleasure and pain and want and greed. She gasped, "Harder, Chris. Harder."

He thrust up into her so hard it drove a high pitched keen from her mouth. She slapped his face on instinct and her whole body went steely into his hands. He grabbed handfuls of her hair and jerked her to his mouth. He grunted, "Hit me again, Jill. Hit me!"

His body rolled inside of hers, over, over, over that spot that hurt and felt like perfection. She slapped him and grabbed a handful of the muscle his chest. He jerked her mouth back to his and sucked her tongue into his mouth hard. She grabbed his throat and held on, opening her mouth for his thrusting tongue as she opened her legs for his hammering dick. She rode him brutally, rising and falling and raping sounds from him that thrilled her in her blood.

His hands gentled to cup her face. She fingered his collarbone and answered that softness with a smooth spill of lips and tongue in return. He tongued her gasping cavity and she came. Just like that. She clenched so hard around him it nearly took his dick with it. And she came, keening, and sucking his tongue. It was wet and long and spastic. He humped her through it, grinding, and then he rolled her beneath him.

He opened her legs, put her hands around the rails of the headboard, covered them with his own, and cupped his groin against her. And he didn't wait. He just killed her. He rocketed into her wet body with a nearly insane pace.

It slapped the face of pleasure and sent it spinning hard and thick into pain. She screamed. She pushed on him, she pulled him into her, she rose to take each driving inch, she fought against each punishing moment. She LOVED him and screamed his name. He loved her and spilled his whole weight on her to take her mouth and fill her up.

"I'm gonna come in you, Jill. Say yes."

"God, yes. Do it! Hurry!"

Christ. He was mad for her.

He adjusted her hips and tilted her pelvis into him, hit the end of her body, and came inside of her while she mewled. He spurted there and grunted, gasping her name into her eager little mouth. And he jerked her into him while he spilled, grinding, shaking. She was shaking too. They shuddered together and collapsed, breathing fast and slick and hard.

He rocked her by slowly, so softly, sliding in and out of her while he finished coming in her.

Until they were finally both still and stuck together with sweat.

Jill could hear people laughing outside. She could hear the ocean. She could hear a seagull cawing. She could feel his heart, her heart, and their breathing.

And she said, "I had a visit from Wesker in a café a few weeks ago."

He lifted his head and his brow was slick with sweat. His eyes, she thought wildly, that blue like the Mediterranean, shifting and beautiful. She shifted and he slid further into her, thrilling them both. Her legs locked over his flanks. Neither seemed in a hurry to move. "He just sat down and started talking. He's following us, Chris. And he's not subtle about it. The thing is…I got the impression he was trying to HELP us."

Chris' hands shifted and scooped the sweaty hair out of her eyes. She watched him volley that swirling gaze all over her face. "Did he scare you?"

Oh, what a question. What a question. Her hands slid up his back and stroked him. It touched her at the same time it amused her. "No actually. Well, maybe a little. I stabbed him…in the heart…"

They held eyes.

"Yep. I stabbed him. And he…hardly bled."

Chris blew out a shaky breath. "So we find the answers on what he is. And we destroy him."

Jill nodded a little. "Leon Kennedy called me about a potential threat."

And now she watched him shift again. He started to roll away and she locked her ankles behind his calves. "Don't. Stay here. Please."

He glanced down at her face. "I gotta be crushing you, Jill."

"Not enough. Not nearly enough."

They held gazes.

And he finally relented and gave her his weight. He laid atop her with his ear on her chest. Jill stroked his sweaty hair and held him.

She told him about Il Veltro and the rumors. He talked about Anna and the family fostering her. Neither spoke of Leon Kennedy or Cindy and what had happened there. It proved one simple truth: they weren't as good of "friends" as they wanted to be.

She mentioned all the candidates she'd interviewed. He talked about Clive and Barry being on the last leg of the tour in Europe trying to drum up more support. They talked about Terragrigia and Dog and the potential of staying there to use it as a base of operations.

Chris said, "It looks like London might be the hub for a headquarters. And we can put one stateside in NYC. Cindy suggested a good building owned by Double Helix she has coming up for lease."

Jill nodded and her hands slid and cupped his ass. She pressed him into her and watched it bloom on his face. Her voice was breathy, "We have an interview coming up in about fifteen minutes."

His hand shifted and cupped her face. "Better be quick than."

She laughed and gasped as he slid in and out of her, "What a guy."

Jill opened her legs and braced. Their hands slid and linked above her head. It was smooth and eager. It built and brought her mouth open in a shaky cry. And then it went from a rolling boil to an explosion. She arched and his body answered it with sticky, slick, plunging greed.

They didn't need fifteen minutes. They finished in five. It was fast and full of octopus arms and legs and grunting. They rolled, they spilled off the bed onto the floor, they grabbed and lunged. They ended half on the terrace with Jill holding him down and forcing him into her in a manic race. His hands rolled her hips, hers gripped his chest and they didn't even pretend to take it easy.

Freight train, he though madly, she was. She was the mother fucking freight train. She absolutely did NOT quit.

When she collapsed atop him, he shifted and lifted her. He carried her one armed into the big bathroom and threw her against the wall of the shower. He hit the hot water tap, felt it strike their bodies, and turned her into the wall. She planted her hands, spread her legs, and let him stroke wet and fast into her while they rinsed the sweat off their bodies.

She screamed as he bent her double and destroyed her even as he spilled soap down her spine to wash her. What a guy, Jill thought again, dying and coming and grunting. What a guy.

Replete, they emerged clean and happily used from the bathroom to dress. He slipped back on the suit and Jill echoed the casual business of it. She put on slacks and a blue camisole, topping it with a black vest. She stood up after tucking her toes into strappy sandals and he slid against her back.

His arms curled over her waist and one hand slid up her collarbone to pull her back against him. She turned her head and kissed him. Smooth, soft, it shimmered in a way they hadn't let it shimmer in a long time.

She didn't know what this meant. He didn't know what it meant either. They both knew it meant something. But there would be time later to figure that out.

His hand slid over her groin and smoothly cupped her over her pants. She murmured, looping her fingers through his to hold him there. And then he asked, softly, "Sore?"

"I'm ok." She opened her eyes and rolled in his arms. They held each other, breathing. And they kissed, eyes open and watching each other. And she said again, "I'm more than ok. I've missed you. Tell me you don't know that. Tell me you don't feel that."

Chris cupped her ass and rubbed their groins together. She laughed a little, shivering. "I feel it. I'd like to feel it again later. And possibly tomorrow. What do you say?"

Jill chuckled and leaned up toward him. "What a fucking guy. You big charmer."

And he opened his mouth on a laugh for her tongue. They were still in the thick of the worlds longest kiss when the buzzer on the door sounded. Jill pulled back and smacked his chest.

"Enough of that. We have a business to run."

"That's the rumor." He swatted her fanny as she eased away and went toward the main room to let in their interviewee.

Chris took up a spot in a chair in the living room as Jill let in what had to be Mira Vaughn. She was young, pretty, barely five foot tall and had skin like coffee with three creams. Her dark hair stuck up around her face in a pretty flattering riot of curls.

She smiled politely as Jill offered her a seat on the sofa and took the other arm chair beside Chris. She leafed through Mira's file, watching her face. They went through all the standard questions. They asked about virology. They segued into politics and potential for advancement. And then Jill asked, "Mira, there is potential here for real change. But the ground is murky at the start. Are you ok with risking your reputation by joining a fledgling organization that may be met with ridicule and resistance?"

Mira laughed now, delighted, "Ok with it? I'm THRILLED to do it. I'm not a wilting flower, Ms. Valentine. I'm an asskicker. With all due respect, point me toward the person who needs convinced and let me take them down. When the loyalty is earned, mine is unflappable. Hire me. I won't let you down. I don't shit where I eat. I don't fuck my coworkers. And I won't rabbit, turn, or defect. I will, however, go down fighting for the BSAA if that's what it takes. That's what loyalty from me looks like."

Jill glanced at Chris who was smirking. "Mira, I think you just got yourself a job."

And Mira Vaughn became their newest employee. "Sweet ASS. You won't regret it. I swear you won't….in respect for my new job, I have to say one thing before we get started working together."

Jill escorted her to the door, grinning, "What's that?"

Mira glanced over her shoulder to be sure Chris wasn't listening. He was leafing through the file on their next interview. "If I wasn't working for him, I'd be trying to hit that. Seriously…is he ALL muscle? Or just what you can see?"

Amused, Jill felt her eyes twinkle. "He's all muscle. And he's huge…everywhere."

Mira grabbed Jill's arm and pretended to have a heart attack, which made her laugh. "Christ…it's a damn shame to have integrity. I'm just sayin."

Jill closed the door on her with a laugh and turned back to him. He was shifting papers on the little coffee table. That beard…it was some shade of brown on that broad jaw of his. She understood the reaction from Mira. Hadn't she been feeling it since the moment she met him?

The vest was left unbuttoned over that damn shirt. He was reading over the file on a potential tech supply applicant. Francine DuPont "Frannie" had pigtails tipped pink and blue. She had a nose ring and two lip rings. She had a heart tattooed under her left eye. She also, apparently, had created countless gadgets used by the government for their black ops spy division. So, she was brilliant, and bored working a desk for the CIA.

Chris tapped her picture on the file. "Get her. Offer her whatever she wants."

"Right? I agree. She's our seven o'clock."

"Awesome." He shifted to read another one. Jill pushed off the door and walked toward him. "You have some fucking stellar talent lined up here, Jill. Where'd you find them?"

"Mostly? Leon Kennedy."

"Naturally. That little shit. He knows everything." It was said without rancor. Chris flipped up a few sheets on a potential spy for them. "You see this shit? Former UBCS. Hire this guy too. Now."

Jill laughed a little and pushed on his shoulders. He leaned back on the couch and she straddled him, sinking down to sit on his lap. Her fingers slid over his beard and he dropped the folder in his hands to grip her hips. She skimmed his face with her thumbs.

"That girl that just left wants a ride on the freight train."

Chris lifted a brow, smirking. "She's barely twenty years old. The freight train is not for babies."

Jill tilted her head, studying him. "You didn't find her attractive?"

His hands shifted to cup her face. "Right now? Like this? I don't even remember what she looked like."

Warm in her guts, Jill stroked his furry face. "Charmer."

"I have my moments." He glanced at her chest while she sat on his lap. " FYI - I can see your nipples through that top."

"….and maybe not so charming." Jill laughed, loving him. She tilted her head, looking down at him. "I like the beard."

"Yeah? It's driving me nuts. I was thinking of shaving."

"Maybe. But not yet…first? I need to know how it feels on my lips."

Chris rubbed her little butt, sliding his hands into her pants to touch her bare skin and pleased them both. "You keep rubbing it. You've kissed me. You don't know how it feels yet?"

Jill lowered her mouth to whisper against his, "Not…those…lips."

Well shit.

That worked. He caught her around the hips and threw her to the couch beside him. The little sandals came off, the pants followed. The tiny panties joined the party. He left her in the vest and the camisole and sat her up on the couch.

She made a little sound and he knelt in the damn half of a suit he wore. He tilted her up, put her thighs over his shoulders, and showed her how the beard felt against her body. She was right, she thought as she bucked and screamed, it was soft.

The freight train fucking he was known for had refined over time. He still killed with that mouth but there was finesse to it now. He struck, snake quick and lethal, and he lingered to lave and lick and love while you died around his tongue. Jill wondered what the bioterror world would think of the image of the guy who destroyed Umbrella buried up to his nose in needy pussy.

It might have been amusing if she wasn't beyond caring.

Jill cried out, desperate, grabbing his face to hold him as he returned the favor and thrust his tongue into her sopping heat.

He'd forgotten, it seemed, that she tasted like slick, hot, wonderful need. She drove him onto his back and sat on his face, letting him devour her. He feasted like he'd find the feel of her beneath her throbbing cunt. He didn't just lick her, he loved her, taking her body into his mouth until she thought she'd die there and spill wet, hot, and bloody all around them.

Desperate not to come on his face, she backed off and slid down his body. They shared the flavor of her between them as she leaned over him and kissed him slow and wet. He held her face and angled her to his mouth, destroying her with the feel and spill of his tongue and want of her. He set her back on the couch to finish her off. He made her body sing, arch, hump and push against his lips and teeth.

While a seagull called prettily, she came against his face almost too wet, too easy, and too golden. When she was done and quaking, he rose and went into the kitchen.

Jill laid on the couch, splay-legged and gasping.

So, it was clear what was happening here. At least to her. She was, still, irretrievably in love with him. It actually physically felt like she had gotten back a piece of her soul to let him inside of her. Was it safe, finally, for them to find their way together?

He emerged from the kitchen with a glass of wine for her and a beer for himself and she realized she didn't care. Wherever they went, this is where they were. She slipped back on her panties and they sat on the couch, talking candidates for the job and picking through information. They talked about Il Veltro and Wesker and where to take the BSAA.

Jill sat across his lap sideways and he rubbed her thighs and her knees while she flipped through files to show him the best candidates. She had her hands under his shirt, rubbing his belly and his back while they talked. When she started to lean forward to grab another file from the table, he shifted his head and kissed her.

She spilled back against him and they spent fifteen minutes kissing.

It ended with her hands in his pants and all over his dick and his under her shirt and full of her breasts. He said, "Yeah again. Again?"

"Again."

She grabbed for his zipper to free him and the buzzer rang on the door.

Jill blinked and glanced at the clock. It was only six. They didn't have an interview for another hour. Ignoring it, Jill jerked down his zipper. The buzzer sounded again.

Annoyed, he set her off him and she hurriedly grabbed her clothes to disappear into the bedroom to dress.

Chris zipped himself back up and walked to the door. He opened it, grinning, one hand in his tossled hair…and came face to face with Albert Wesker.

Without missing a beat, Wesker affected a wolfish grin and said, "Ah Chris…I see you've finally arrived. All the pieces are in play it seems. The time has come…I have a bargain for you. Shall we dance again with death? Or are you finally ready to listen?"

And Chris Redfield stepped back to let his greatest enemy come through his very door.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to find the natural end to this story. I could, potentially, drag it on until the end of time. It's a long winding friendship, it's a soul mate tale of love and devotion. It's familiar and new and exciting. I don't want to kill it by letting it drag out until it's overly done.
> 
> Wesker is the bread and butter here. I need to keep him in the story to keep the purpose alive. What is his goal here? What is his end game? And how have they played right into his plans?
> 
> I won't touch too deeply into Revelations. I have ideas on it I'm going to get around to later regarding that. I've split my attention over too many tales which was GREAT when I had the time to follow all the threads. But life changes and I'm afraid I've bitten off more then I can finish.
> 
> SO – that means I have to draw some of my stuff to a close or let it simmer until it dies. Which happens too often for me. In the interest of that, let's see where Jill and Chris end up, shall we? And feel free to keep shooting me suggestions as well. I love it.
> 
> Slainte.

XX: When All the Hope is Lost

:::::::::::::Twenty:::::::::

The Eastern Shore – Post Terragrigia Panic – Somewhere off the coast of Valdion

What was there to say here? What? There was nothing to say.

They stood in the rain, feeling it whip and slap and destroy them. It was cold and painful and raw. It was endless.

His voice carried above the din of it, scaring her to death. "Tell me he's lying!"

They had to shout. You had to shout to be heard over the thunder and the rain…and the regret.

Her voice shook, terrifying her. "Chris…please. PLEASE. It's not what you think. It's not HOW you think. Let me explain. Let me EXPLAIN."

She grabbed his shirt and for the first time since they'd met…he jerked her hands off him and stepped away. "You made a deal with him, Jill. A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL!"

He'd never shouted at her. Never. He'd never scared her like this. He was so angry. He was so hurt. Her HEART. HER HEART. She didn't think she could stand it.

"Please….please…I had to. I HAD TO. HE WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU!"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE LET HIM!" He actually took a step toward her and she backed up, gasping. She was gasping. Her breath hitched. Her face collapsed in pain. She was shaking.

"Chris…listen to me. Listen. He offered me the deal…if I did the job…" She grabbed for him and he slapped her hands away, shaking his head. It felt like he'd hit her. It felt like he'd hit her in the face. "Please…if I did the job with him…he'd let you go. You know that!"

He kept on shaking his head. He turned away from her and stared hard into the swirling storm over the ocean.

The remains of Terragrigia were still there…and still burning.

They stood on the shore and watched the world burn. Their world. Where they'd found each other again. Where Wesker had stepped through their door and offered them a deal.

And where Jill had betrayed everything they'd stood for and taken it.

She couldn't have known. She couldn't have known what she was agreeing to. But he'd stood in the shimmery sunlight and offered them a deal. Work for him, this one last time, and he would set them free. He would never darken their doorstep again.

And if they didn't?

Jill stared at his profile in the whipping wind and rain. Lightning echoed across his face. He'd nearly killed him in Russia. And he'd barely blinked. He'd stood in the sunny foyer of their condo and made it clear if they didn't, he'd finish the job.

So, she'd done it.

She'd taken the job behind Chris' back and done it.

She'd gone in a retrieved a sample for him. She'd done that. And she knew, knew, she was consigning the fate of faceless strangers to death with it. She'd done that…for him.

Because she'd have done anything for him. Anything.

Even if meant losing him forever.

And now Terragrigia was burning. It was burning. Il Veltro had flooded the beautiful streets with hunters. Someone had sold the Hunter strain to them. Someone had opened the door to the destruction that had ended with the cities solar energy matrix, Regia Solis, was programmed to reflect the full force of the sun's strength directly onto its waiting streets. The Regia Solis was entirely dependent on solar energy and light from a reflective dish that was in constant geosynchronous orbit over the city so with little atmosphere to refract the rays, the city was cooked where she sat like an oven cranked up to full blast.

People had died where they stood, obliterated, incinerated. And those who hadn't had died first at the claws of countless Hunters. The mutagenic virus that plagued the air had been a secondary measure to ensure complete saturation. What was left had died screaming when the world had caught on fire around them.

The FBC building was still burning. Helicopters circled the destruction as the city fell in pieces into the sea that waited to embrace it. Chris watched it now, feeling the crush and push of horror and pain. He knew. She knew. THEY knew who had sold the hunter virus to Il Veltro. They knew.

And they knew Jill had handed it to him to do so.

Jill had signed the death warrant on the entire city of Terragrigia. Jill. His Jill.

No…Wesker's Jill. The protégé. The power behind the madness. Jill – the angel of death. Taught and molded by the former Captain that was now a monster. Jill – who'd traded everything that mattered for his worthless life.

He whispered it now, so quietly, "Why, Jill? WHY!?"

And she felt her breath hitch so hard it stole her breath. She put her hands to her mouth and answered, so softly, "Don't you know the answer? I LOVE YOU. I love you. I'd do anything to protect you. Anything."

He turned back to her, shaking. He was shaking. He was cold. And the fire from the burning city lit the sky behind him with tongues of fury and loss.

Her face was a mask of misery. It was pain and loss and fear. His? His was fury. And horror. And hate.

He looked at her like he hated her. He looked at her….like he looked at Albert Wesker.

"You put what you wanted over what was right, Jill. You killed all those people. ALL THOSE PEOPLE!" And he was shouting again. Shouting and shaking. His voice broke and scared her in ways that had no name. "YOU CAN'T CHOOSE ME OVER THE WORLD, JILL! YOU CAN'T! HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU ANY BETTER THEN HIM!?"

Jill shook her head. She tried to grab him again and he backed away, hands clenched. "Please! Chris, please! Please…don't do this. Don't leave me again. I can't stand it. I won't survive it. Please, you have to forgive me. You have to forgive me. I didn't know what he'd do. I didn't know! I would have done anything to set you free from him. I would have done anything. Don't you get it? Don't you see? YOU'RE MY WORLD! The only thing in it that makes sense. That's ever made sense. Please….please…you have to forgive me, Chris...you have to forgive me..."

The sob broke from her mouth now and nearly killed him. It nearly killed him. He loved her so much. He loved her. But she couldn't see it. She didn't understand it. She didn't see how she couldn't do things like this. She couldn't say fuck the world and choose the dark side when it was his life at stake. It was never ok. It was never ok. IT WAS NEVER OK. You couldn't be a good guy and do bad things for the right reasons. You just couldn't…all those people…were dead because of him.

How could he forgive that?

How could he ever forget?

"This is done, Jill. It's done. It should have been over a long time ago. I can't love someone who'd help him. I can't. LOOK WHAT YOU DID, JILL! LOOK WHAT YOU DID!" And it was enough. It was enough. His voice broke when he shouted it. It broke on the hard gasp and hitch that let him know he was done here. He was going to fall apart if he didn't move.

He grabbed her now and spun her. She shoved her forward to show her the burning city. "Look what you did, Jill. You chose me over the world. You can't choose me over the world. You can't do that and ask forgiveness. It doesn't work that way."

She was shaking. He was holding her upright. She gasped and drew ragged breaths. "I'd trade anyone on earth to keep you safe, Chris. I can't make it untrue because it hurts you. I can't. I'm sorry. I'd set fire to that city myself to protect you."

Jesus Christ. He didn't understand that kind of love. It was insane. It was madness. It was selfish and wrong and painful. It scared him to death. It hurt to hear it. And some dark part of him craved it. He craved it from her.

Because he was almost afraid he'd do the same. And that made him hate her.

He shook his head again and moved passed her. She grabbed his arm and turned into him. She grabbed his shirt and held on. She put her sobbing face against his neck and clung.

"Please…don't…please don't…I love you…"

His face collapsed. He inhaled sharp and fast. The pain of it nearly cut him off at the knees. He sucked in a hard breath that ended on a small gasping sob. Cheese and rice, she'd made him cry. She'd gotten him to stand here and cry.

It was official. He was done.

He turned his face and kissed her hair. He nuzzled her face up and kissed her mouth. It was a wet kiss, a hard kiss, a full kiss. She made a small desperate sound and clung, trying to eat him from the mouth down.

He shook his head and shoved her away. He held her there and wondered if she could see the tears on his face in the rain. "No. No. I can't. I can't love you…not anymore. I don't want to love you anymore, Jill. Not anymore. I can't."

Jill stood as he walked away. She stood in the rain and watched the city burn on the horizon. She sank to her knees and watched the city burn. And the fire couldn't touch the ice in her heart.

BSAA Headquarters -2005

He was missing.

Chris was missing.

They told her like it was the news. Or the weather. Like it was nothing. He was missing.

He'd forgiven her. But he'd never forgiven her. He'd never touched her again. Not like that. Not like before. They'd built the BSAA and cleaned up the mess and never been the same.

And he didn't take her with him as his partner on missions.

It nearly killed her. It felt like cold and rot and dying.

And now he was missing.

They'd lost communications with him and his newest partner. His "partner". A Victoria Secrets model in a BSAA uniform. She'd been all about putting her hands on him before they'd left. She'd been all about tossing her hair and laughing. Touching his arm. Touching his chest. Smiling up into his eyes.

Jessica Sherawat.

Even her name sounded stupid.

They'd gone out. They'd gone missing. They were lost.

She could taste him still in her mouth.

The lingering flavor of him was wet and willing and waiting beneath the rising tide of regret that edged into the shadows of her subconscious mind and meandered amongst the pitiless bones that was the graveyard of her love for him. Where are you?

She was encircled in heavy folds of silk and satin. The sheets were smooth, soft, and almost wet around her with texture. It was expensive and exquisite and real. She rolled to find the clock flashing the time at her. It was half past three in the morning.

The roil of rage and fear in her belly remained, telling her she was still without him. He wasn't there. The bed was empty. The soul was empty. The feeling of his missing piece was leaving a longing in her that robbed the breath even as it made the blood beat fast in the veins.

Where are you?

She rose, naked and splendiferous with it in the darkness that bleeds black and blue before dawn, and moved to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. She touched his razor, felt the kiss of cold steel over her skin that welled with red blood. He was still there. But he wasn't there.

He was gone.

WHERE ARE YOU?

It was hard to function with the pieces of yourself missing. She was empty and limping and lost. She was marooned on an island of solitude and looking, looking, looking for him. But he was gone. And no one knew where to find him.

She was sleeping in his room. She had her own. They weren't…it wasn't always that way. The two of them. They weren't together. But they were always together. Twin souls, dual mirrors, they refracted and reflected each other in times of need, of loss, of longing and laughter and light. Love? It was love. It was more and less and everything.

Not mine, he'd tell people, she's not mine. But she was. And he was hers. She'd known it, he'd known it, all those years before. They were ensorcelled, encircled, and intertwined amongst each other in the guts, in the bones, in the blood. There was no hope for it, no help for it, no way out of it. No one else, ever, could get in and stay in. None could handle the bleeding edge of what stayed between them.

It was love. Not like the movies. Not like the books. It was the kind that lasted when the passion burnt out and the scenery changed and the movie ended. It wasn't two hours and popcorn and happy endings. It was sacrifice and fire and loss and need that stole the breath and ensnared the senses and struck like fire and gasoline and burning eternity. He was the only part of her that was unbroken. The tape, the glue, the sheer fortitude and fantastic push that was Chris Redfield. He'd barreled into her and shattered her and picked the pieces up. He'd put her back together stronger, better, faster and complete.

And they were suffering. She'd shot him in the heart trying to save his life. She'd lost him trying to save him. How did she get him back?

How did she find him?

Where are you?

He was in the Mediterranean. Maybe. Maybe he was there. Maybe he was there. Maybe he was dead. Dead. Finished. Her brain tried to make sense of that. How did she exist in a world where there was no Chris Redfield?

No.

She turned and closed her bloody fist. No. There was no her without him. There was no one without the other. She would not stand down, would not wait to discover he was gone. She couldn't even wrap her brain around the idea of what life was like without him. How did one exist with only half of themselves? How did one exist with no heart, no soul, no purpose? He was all and both and everything. And she was his Valkyrie, his warrior queen, his Amazonian protectress. She was his goddess of the hunt, his knife in the dark, his perfect storm. She would find him, save him and save them both.

He would forgive her. He had to. He had to forgive her. He had to take her back. It was the only way the world righted itself. It was the only way her world could exist. The wind tickled her face. What had he said once about the wind carrying him to his fate?

She could smell him. She could still smell him. The scent of him swirled around her and offered her the sight of him there. There. He was there in the inky darkness before her. She could feel the brush of his skin. She could touch him with her fingers if she just…reached out.

The brush of him beneath the tips of her fingers. The dip at the hollow of his throat. The taut path of his collarbone and the suggestion of hair that tingled and taunted the pads of her flesh. She'd touch one, watch it crest for her. She'd touch the curve and slope of his face. "Chris," She'd whisper, "I ache for you." And his mouth would slide smooth and wet against hers.

She could feel him here. All around her. And inside of her.

The radio on her dresser crackled and hissed, "We have the location."

She turned and the moonlight spilled over the slope of her breasts, the line of her spine, the curve of her derriere and the long, tempting length of her legs. She was a warrior, yes, and she was ready for the fight. She was ready.

"I'm on my way."

He was there, watching her at the window. She could see the smile on his face. She moved into the moonlight and could feel him there, watching her.

"I will find you. No matter what it takes. I will find you."

And she wouldn't stop until she had him back.

Valkoinen Mökki, Finland

The storm had come overnight. It settled down in the small village with a perverse glee. It left white and cold in a beautiful blanket. The snow knocked down power lines and trapped patrons in their houses.

It had also, apparently, blocked communications with HQ.

He couldn't get a signal out to check in. At this point, it had been over eighteen hours, and they were likely being tracked as M.I.A.

He wasn't lost. But he was. He was lost.

Because he didn't know who he was anymore.

The last year he'd fought bioterror with a vengeance. With Jill out of his grip, he'd pursued revenge like a man possessed. He'd thrown down the gauntlet against the threat of viral warfare with a single-minded determination born of regret and absolution. If he fought harder, faster, longer…could he erase those who'd died so he could live?

Could he erase the horror that plagued him when he closed his eyes at night? The faceless and the nameless and the lost. They chased him from dream to dream to waking and left him hollow. The only thing he felt now was righteous anger.

He'd become the Human Tank of the bioterror world. It was chuckled in circles. He was hailed as the Wrath of God and the Fifth Horsemen of the Apocalypse. He'd tagged along on Leon Kennedy's heels and stood side by side with him to tear down the last vestiges of Umbrella. When rumors spread, he hunted them down and destroyed them.

He was always cordial, always polite, always professional. With everyone. With anyone. At work. At home. With Jill.

With Jill.

He knew the guilt that haunted her. He heard her pacing in her room at night. He often sat on the floor with his head against the wall and listened to her through the thin walls. A bottle of whiskey and a cigarette were often his companions in the long hours before dawn when he wanted to kick down the fucking wall between them and take her.

She tried. She tried so hard. She joked. She winked. She played around.

He gave her what little he could stand. He wanted her. Always. Every minute. He ached for her. He loved her. And he let her see none of it. Eventually, she'd stopped pushing so hard to get him to forgive her.

He forgave her. He'd forgiven her a long time ago. How could he hate her? She was his other piece. She was his best friend. She was his girl. And if Wesker had threatened Claire with death? Maybe he'd have done what Jill had done for him.

Everyone had a price.

Everyone.

Maybe he'd have done it for Jill too. He just didn't know anymore. And that kind of love scared him. It meant he had a weakness that could be exploited. It meant he had an achilles heel. He had to keep the distance here. He had to. To protect her, to protect him, to protect the world.

They were no longer two horny kids fucking on the floor of her tiny apartment. They had too much at stake now. They had too much to lose. They were the only defense between Wesker and the world now. They had to stop him.

They had to stop him.

THEY HAD TO STOP HIM.

Before he brought the world down around them in fire and blood.

Chris shifted to look out the window into the driving snow. It was a whirlwind out there. They needed to get a signal out to HQ before they started a search and rescue. They needed to get a move on and make their way to the airport. Would the storm never let up here?

He turned away from the window as his room door opened and Jessica entered.

Jessica had a tendency not to knock…ever.

She was former FBC and new to the BSAA. She was flirty and friendly and well liked. She was beautiful, objectively, with pouty lips and curling dark hair and big violet eyes. She was also nearly painfully obvious about how much she wanted him.

She hadn't pulled any punches. She was practically one beer away from putting a hand in his pants and jerking him off while he tried to fight her. It was almost comic. He was constantly trying to avoid her.

Naturally, Clive had sent them out together on this damn mission. Naturally.

It wasn't that he didn't find her attractive. He was neither blind nor dead and last time he'd checked he had a pulse and dick, so clearly, he was aware of her. She was sexy and dirty in a purely visceral way. Like a Playboy Bunny or something. She fairly exuded sex.

He just wasn't in the mood to mess with it. He had a feeling touching her would cost him a hand, or the entire arm.

Jessica was wearing a little red tank top and some kind of plaid sleeping shorts that left her long, long, long legs exposed from the top of her thighs down. Her hair was piled on her head in some kind of knot that left pieces curling around in places.

The fireplace in his room kept the place nice and toasty. The little inn where they were staying was cozy and quaint. It should have been a simple mission: search out rumors of a hideout for the surviving members of Il Veltro rumored to be in the region. Easy. Cake.

And then they'd lost communications. And now it was a mess.

Jessica stopped and rolled her plump lower lip up into her mouth to worry it with her teeth. He was just…in a towel. A towel. Just a towel around his waist. The room was moist from the shower he'd clearly come from moments before. The trails of steam were still swirling from the open bathroom door.

She curled a hand in the neck of her tank top felt the flutter of her heart there. Jesus, he was something. Edible. She suspected he was also gay. She'd been practically throwing herself at him for months now.

Zip. Nada. Nilch.

Nothing.

An absolute shame if he was riding the rainbow express. Seriously. He was all kinds of muscle and hair and bedroom eyes. She tried to picture him taking it up the ass and couldn't get her mind to wrap around it. She pictured him sticking it in hers though and get breathless with the naughtiness of it.

She tried talking and found out her voice was only a little breathy. It sounded pretty good actually, like a sex phone operator. "You manage to raise anyone?"

He tried not to smirk. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes dilated. It could have been from the roaring fire in the corner…but he'd been around the block enough times to know when a woman was hot for it. She was hot for it.

And he hadn't touched a woman in a year. Before Cindy had spent a night twirling on his dick and Jill had spent one whole day using him like a well-paid whore sent to pleasure her, he hadn't had a woman in years. YEARS. He managed to go from a freight train to a eunuch to a well-paid whore to a eunuch again. He was on the seesaw of sexless living here.

He was losing his mind from it.

And he had to be out of his fucking mind to be even considering fucking his partner. He knew what fucking your partner got you. It got you a broken heart and a lonely dick.

Don't shit where you eat was pretty much the Chris Redfield way of life now.

He heard the whispers. He dealt with the jokes. He knew people talked about him like he didn't have a dick. He didn't look. He didn't flirt. He didn't touch. And he didn't bother. He knew what that kind of reputation got you. It got you a seat in the closet. People were speculating he was gay and hiding it. Of course, they were. But better gay and in the closet then the truth.

And the truth was that he was still in love with Jill Valentine.

Always had been.

From the moment he'd walked into that police station until the moment he'd walked away in the rain to this moment right here…he was in love with Jill Valentine. And there was nothing to be done for it. Nothing.

Loving her had nearly gotten her killed. Loving her had gotten thousands killed. She'd traded a city to keep him safe. Loving her had cost them everything. He had to stop loving her.

Which, vaguely, sounded like saying he had to stop breathing. He didn't know how to do that either.

Until he figured that part out, he was staying in the closet. Let the rest of the world say what they wanted. He didn't give a rats ass anyway. Never had.

He said, "Nope. Nobody. Can't get any signal at all here. The snow, the storm…something has cut off everything. We're on our own at the moment. You want to head out there and snoop around?"

Jessica shifted where she stood. "If you want to. Why not? Unless you want to hang around here and wait to see if the storm lets up first."

He glanced back out the window. The wind was kicking snow around like an excited kid missing school. The weather reports promised it should die down by mid-afternoon. But he was itching to get moving.

If HQ was waiting to hear from them, it was better to have something positive to report when communications came back up.

He turned looked over his shoulder to hash out a plan with her and she was right there.

He froze.

She was leaning over him to click buttons on the communicator lying on the table. She was turning the dial on the hub and trying to find a frequency. It was all white noise. White noise in his head too. Because she kept brushing against his damp back while she did it.

She said, quietly, "Let me see if I can get something to happen here."

Oh, something was happening alright. It was happening. She didn't have to be up in his personal space like she was. He was well aware she was fucking with him.

He turned around and his towel brushed her knees. Yeah. Too fucking close.

"Knock yourself out," Chris intoned blandly, "See if you can raise anyone."

In hindsight, it was a poor choice of words. She stopped clicking buttons and slid her eyes up the line of his chest…and then she licked her lips. And he knew exactly what she'd say.

"It's not all that hard to raise somebody if you just…press the right buttons."

Cheese and rice.

He muttered, "Yeah?" Damnit. He sounded hoarse. He was an idiot. The dumb stick was going to get him killed. It was official.

Jessica pursed her lips and smirked a little, eyes twinkling. "Well…it's just…" She shifted and her hand brushed against the towel. It just…brushed right over it. He watched her mouth and waited for her to say it. She didn't disappoint him. Nope. She said, "…hard. So, sometimes it's just hard."

He started to shift away from her and the panic in his throat that was clawing up his chest. And she curled that hand around the towel. She leaned into him while she did it and he could…smell her. She smelled like ivory soap and some kind of flower. Her hair smelled like flowers.

She stopped pretending to play with the communicator and skimmed her other hand over his side. And those last few fake inches between them? She closed them completely. Her hand curled against the terry cloth, her other hand slid up his damp back. He had a moment to think her mouth looked like a bee stung treat and that searching hand on the towel found him.

Her fist closed around him through the towel and he watched it happen. He watched it happen on her face, the moment she realized he was…well…him. And huge. He'd been watching it happen for twenty years. The flush, the hooded eyes, the excitement…he could smell it on her. Like a predator, he smelled it all over her.

Jessica made a small sound in her throat and whispered, "That's why they call you the Human Tank."

She leaned up and licked his mouth.

Chris shuddered. His hands shifted down and gripped the desk behind his hips. He bared down on the wood and held her gaze. He was trying to find the voice to tell her to stop. He was. His body though? It was rock hard and ready in her fist.

Jessica laughed a little, breathily. "They say you're gay, you know."

And he could speak after all. He answered, low and gruff, "So I've heard."

She put her mouth to his and breathed, "You're hard. You're ready. You're a helluva faker…Captain."

Shit.

The title threw images of Wesker between them. It threw ice water on him. What was he doing here!? This was not only stupid, it was wasting time.

He lifted his hands to push her away and gripped her arms above the elbows, "Stop it, Jessica."

She stopped. She let go.

And then she pulled the towel away.

It fell to the floor in a flutter of sound, he pushed her back, and her fist closed around his throbbing dick. He grunted, she tugged, and his pushing hands curled in and dug instead. She rolled him in her milking grip from balls to tip and lifted her free hand to cup the back of his neck.

He wasn't sure how it ended up that way. He wasn't sure exactly where he'd lost the battle here but he was going down in flames. She bumped him back with her hips and Chris rattled the desk as he collapsed on it to sit. She stepped between his knees and kept on working him.

It was easy work for her. He was so slick with pre-cum that it was all the lube she needed. It made her job simple. Jessica licked his mouth again and he was pretty sure he was going to drop dead from the need in his fucking balls to blow his load all over the place.

She whispered, "Tell me what you want."

Jesus. He grunted as she rolled his thick head over her slick palm. Her thumb played at his sticky slit and tortured a sound from his throat. His mouth was so dry it was almost painful. He had to lick his lips twice before he could find his voice, "Stop. Wait."

Right. Like she was going to do that. She laughed a little and thrust her tongue into his mouth. His blood shot right into his groin and hurt. It literally hurt him. He was so hard up it was painful.

Her tongue was a witch. It delved into his mouth and matched the rhythm of her hand on his body. He made a sound of distress and her dark hair spilled over the side of his face. For just a moment, just one moment, he blinked his eyes and it wasn't her there…it was Jill.

And he was done.

He was just done.

Chris shifted and gave her back his tongue. Jessica made a sound of excitement, of want, and his hands let go of her arms and shifted into her hair. He jerked her head back and savaged her mouth. She mewled, gasping.

And it was Jill. It was all Jill. It was Jill in his hands and in his mouth and on his dick. It was Jill.

He pushed off the desk and shoved her hands away from his dick. She made a sound of denial and Chris gripped her tank top and ripped it over her head. She was lean and fit and lovely. It didn't matter. It wasn't her face anyway.

She hadn't bothered with a bra. Naturally. She'd been trying to fuck him. She didn't need a bra to fuck him. He took her arm and threw her against the wall.

The pain of it excited her. Jessica gasped and reached for him with hands like claws. He filled his mouth and his hands with her needy tits. She had big nipples made for sucking. He mashed them in his hands and put his teeth to them and she squirmed on the wall, crying out.

The cry was wrong. The voice was wrong. He shut it down and shifted. He jerked her shorts down her legs and she scrambled, desperate and ready.

She barely finished kicking them aside and he filled her full of his fingers.

She screamed, grabbing his arms to hold on. He forced her up the peak of it and watched her fight it. It didn't matter. He'd been fingering girls for so long he knew just how to push them into the dark. He did so, mercilessly, watching her face as she came.

She did it wetly, spilling sticky and needy into his palm. She was that type of girl, it seemed. The type that gushed when she came. That was good. It made things so much easier.

She keened his name and he grabbed her. He carried her one armed to the desk and threw her face down on it. She scrambled, grabbing the edges. He kicked her feet apart like he'd frisk her and jerked her hips up.

She was so wet. He smeared his dick all over her. He smeared it all over her ass. He wanted to fuck her in that needy little ass. But not yet. Not yet.

Jill looked over her shoulder at him..no...not Jill. His head swirled. Chris shoved his dick against her slick, needy, engorged slit and pushed.

She didn't wait. She surged back and took him. One thrust, hilt deep, she took the whole length of him without any real prep. A whore indeed. She screamed a lot. She was a screamer.

It spurred him on. He grabbed a handful of her hair and one hip and rode her body like a whore. The face she turned over her shoulder to see him wasn't her face anyway. It was Jill.

It was always Jill.

The meaty slap was wet and loud. He couldn't find the right angle. It wasn't right. It was wrong somehow.

Annoyed, he grabbed her by the hips and carried her with her back to his front, with his dick still buried in her. She squirmed, gasping, as he walked them to the bed and dumped her on it. He rolled her onto her back and shoved her knees open.

She was bare. Her little mound was bare. Jill wasn't bare. She wasn't that type of girl.

She wasn't Jill.

The rage of it ate his soul. He slapped his dick against her desperate clit while she gasped and jerked. He thumbed her body and pressed his dick against her creamy heat.

She grabbed his face and jerked him down.

He fucked her so hard it echoed. It smacked like a kick to the face. She screamed into his mouth and took his tongue to suck it. He plowed the whole thing into her and rattled her teeth.

Later, she'd think there was no WAY she could have known he'd be like this. He was so uptight it was almost ridiculous. Maybe this was why. Maybe he was uptight and hard up.

He rose to his knees and pushed hers back to her ears. He rolled her body up like a pretzel and drilled her into the mattress. She gasped, bouncing, bowing.

When the angle was still wrong, when it wasn't enough, he dropped her legs and started to roll her. Enough of this, he thought, he was going to fuck her in the ass and be done with it.

And then she shifted. She shifted and looped her legs over his thighs and slid her feet down his calves. His hands dropped to bracket her head. Her hands slid up his back…and held.

And he was realized why it was wrong. It wasn't the fucking he'd been missing. It was this. This. This. What was this?

She drew him down and kissed him. It was soft now and slow. He made some kind of sound of need. And he realized what was missing.

Jill.

Intimacy.

He was a fucking girl now apparently. He was missing the intimacy.

Jessica tilted his head and kept on kissing him. It softened. It spilled. He didn't want that. He didn't want it to spill. He just wanted to drill her and be done.

She arched, gasping. And then she spilled his face into the curve of her neck and shoulder. She curled her arms up his back and…held him. He made another sound and gave her the weight of him. He let her hold him. It cost him more to do that little thing than fucking her did.

Fucking her was nothing. It primal and animal and stupid. This cost him.

She nuzzled his face and took his mouth, plumbing it with her tongue. She murmured his name. He spilled his mouth down her chest now and played it over her breasts. She cupped him to her and rose to take each dive of his body.

Yeah, he thought madly, it was connecting. He was raw from it. He wanted to feel something. And he wanted to feel nothing. And he wanted Jill.

Damn her.

Jessica gasped and tugged his face back up to her. He started to close his eyes and she grabbed him harder. She commanded him, "Don't. Let me see you. I've wanted you for so long. Let me see you."

Cheese and rice.

He didn't want this shit. Not like this. He didn't want any of it.

There must have been something on his face because she kissed him, eyes open. He tried to tug his face back and she held on harder. "I'm not her."

Jesus. He jerked and she gripped him. "Whoever she is? I'm not her. Look at me. I'm not her."

Women. They were always making things complicated. Why couldn't she just take the fucking and shut up?

He grunted, driving harder into her body. She gasped, bowing. And he ground himself against her spongy cervix. She mewled, fighting against it.

"Yeah." He laughed a little. "Shut up."

The anger flashed across her face. She slapped him. She actually slapped him while he fucked her. It was loud in the room. It stung, no lie there. He laughed and grabbed her hands.

He threw them over her head and held her down. "You don't fool me. You've been whoring yourself out to me for months. Don't act like the pissed off virgin now, doll face. Who are you kidding here?"

Jessica struggled beneath him. "Get off me."

"Please. Just shut up." He rode out and slammed back in. She screamed, bowing, her body fucked up toward him even as she cursed. He filled his mouth with her thrusting tits and shifted.

She spooned against his body as he threw his dick down to her so fast, so hard, so deep that she started screaming with each thrust. He grunted, sweating all over her. He gasped, hearing the wet squelch and thunk of his dick in her needy little body. "Want me to stop?"

"No. God…no. Don't. Bastard. Don't."

Yeah. That sounded about right.

He jerked her up into his lap and she spilled around him. He fucked her sitting, lifting and setting her down on his dick like a toy. Like a fuck doll. She grabbed his face and all her hair spilled on them. Their tongues dueled and their mouths popped and sucked and stuck together. She shifted and rode him. She rode like she'd kill him with it.

He was close. It raced into his guts and stole his breath. He grabbed her and jerked her down so hard that he went in, all the way, and hit her cervix with each brutal thrust. She squealed and took it, bouncing and smashing her tits against his chest. And it was Jill's face. It was Jill.

It was ALWAYS Jill.

He gasped her name as he threw her back against the headboard and trapped her there to take all of him. He gasped it, "Jill…"

She didn't even notice or care. It didn't matter.

He pushed off like he'd climb off her and she hooked her feet against his ass. "Coward. Don't stop now."

What a bitch. He hated her.

He grabbed a handful of her hair and jerked her head back. "You want me to come in you like some kind of whore?"

And she laughed and grabbed his ass in her hands. She ground him in her, pulsing around him. "Fuck me like I'm Jill, you bastard."

He hated her.

"Bitch." The hump of his hips hurt her. He saw it flash in her eyes. He tried to fuck his way out her back. She mewled and squirmed with pain. His balls brushed her ass. She drove her nails into him and humped harder.

Jesus.

He grunted and filled her up. He ground himself against her cervix and blew his shit in her creamy heat. It felt like he'd probably blown a kidney out of his dick or something. It hurt. He fucked her through the release, slapping and pumping into her waiting body.

She gasped and grabbed for him. She sucked him in, tightened her body around his twitching dick, and came. He felt her do it. He felt her suck him in hard and spasm. She grunted like an animal and ground herself against him. It put him all up in her. It put her on his balls. She was a filthy fucking thing.

She leaned back, gasping, sweating…and slapped his face.

He blinked, shaking.

"It's Jessica…you asshole. Not Jill. JESSICA."

Of course, it was. Of course.

She panted, still stuck on his spasming junk. "Don't you trust me like her? You old partner huh? You fuck her like me, you bastard?"

Jesus.

Women. What the fuck man? Couldn't a girl just take a pounding and not make it personal? He shoved into her once more to punish her. She screamed and slapped him.

He hated her.

He lifted her off his dick and laid her on the bed. He rolled to his feet, shivering.

Fuck. FUCK. He'd certainly done that. He'd fucked her. He'd fucked his partner.

Yep. That happened. The slutty thing that she was. He was a complete fucking cliché. A nice ass and a good pair of tits and he was done. Finito.

Idiot.

Chris moved to the window, watching the snow that swirled beyond it. The body was happy. It was thrilled. He'd gotten his rocks off. The body was spent and used and content. The heart? It was aching.

He wanted Jill.

And he didn't want to want Jill anymore.

On the bed, Jessica said, "You want to talk about Jill?"

He turned, looking at her. She was lounging there, sweaty, pink, and watching him. She was on her belly, one elbow on the bed with her hair all tangled around her face.

"No. I don't want to talk about Jill." He studied her, breathing heavy. "She was my partner. It's that simple."

Jessica shifted, and the spill of her ass drew his eye. "You gonna let this get weird now?"

She smirked a little. "Listen, you don't need to worry about me hounding you about emotional shit, Chris. Ok? I can do my damn job."

She tested a theory and lifted her ass a little…and his eyes stayed right on it. Good. GOOD. She'd been trying for MONTHS to get him to see her. She'd been have convinced he was mentally retarded or something. Nope. He was a goddamn hammer. He fucked like he was trying to kill you. It was incredible.

Chris shifted and headed toward the shower. "Good. Let's focus on the mission. Go gear up."

She rolled her hips up. He stopped and looked down at her. He grabbed her ass in his hands spread her open. And he was dripping down her body onto the bed. She was slick and sticky from him.

She made a small sound, watching his face. "Like that, do you?"

He glanced at her face and lifted a brow. He let her go to bounce back on the bed. "You always whore yourself out to your boss?"

She smiled sweetly at him. "When they look like you? Why not?"

He shook his head and walked away.

Jessica watched him step into the bathroom. She sighed and rolled onto her back. He was something. Jill. JILL. She actually liked Jill. Jill was a little weird. She was always making stupid jokes. She had a thing with leaving whoopie cushions everywhere. She hadn't even guessed Chris loved Jill.

It was pretty clear now.

Not that it mattered. Jill wasn't returning the love, clearly. So, it was a non-issue. Now the only problem was keeping him interested in her. But she knew how to do that. She'd been using her body to keep men dangling for years.

Interestingly enough, she didn't like Chris. He was an asshole. He'd never really been nice to her. He was standoffish and cold. And the best sex she'd had in years.

She laughed.

She rolled to her feet. The steam wafted from the bathroom.

Chris was soaping his hair when she started rubbing all over him. He turned and rinsed his face in the water. His hands came up and grabbed her arms. He pushed her away, sharply. "Enough of this, Jessica. Quit acting like a whore. Shop it someplace else. I ain't buying. Go get ready."

She shoved him away. And turned him toward the spray. She laughed and curled against his back. "Who are you fooling here? Just shut up."

She slicked her soapy hands all over him. He stood in the heated spray and let her. He wanted to kick her out of the shower and forget her. He wanted to take back the last forty minutes he'd spent fucking her. He didn't need this kind of shit in his life.

He didn't need any of it.

Jessica slid between his front and the wall. She slid her soapy hands up his chest and tilted his face down to her. He shook his head and braced his hands on the wall beside her head. "No."

She laughed again, softly. "You're so dumb. Stop saying no. Stop saying anything. Stop being dumb. And forget about Jill. Forget her. She's stupid. She's not here. But I am, you idiot. I'm here."

She pulled him down and kissed him. He didn't touch her. She licked his mouth and twisted her fingers in his hair. He grunted. And she murmured, "Jill is a total fucking idiot. Thank god for that."

And now he grabbed her arms and shoved her against the shower wall. She flared her eyes with excitement. "Don't talk about her. Ever. You hear me?"

Jessica jerked on his hair and he ground out a hiss.

"I'll say what I want. Where's Jill, Chris? Where is she? She's not here. Why? Is it her…or you? Stop saying no to me. Stop looking for Jill."

He shoved her again and stole her breath. "I said shut up about her. Shut up. Are you deaf or stupid? Don't talk about Jill again."

Jessica laughed and jerked him against her mouth. She bit his lips and rubbed her breasts against his chest. "….make me."

He hated her.

He hated her fucking guts. She was a bitch. She was a whore. She was a pain in the ass.

"Stop it, Jessica. Stop fucking with me. Let me do my fucking job here and stop being a bitch."

She bit his mouth again and he hissed at her. "...make me, you son of a bitch."

He fucking hated her.

His hands slid down and grabbed her ass. He jerked her against him and fucked her mouth with his tongue. She laughed and moaned and took it.

He hated her.

He wanted Jill.

And he couldn't have her. Not anymore.

She laughed at him. "You can call me, Jill. You asshole. See if I care. Where's Jill, Chris? She ain't here. But I am. I'm here."

He shifted Jessica and lifted her. He fucked her while she screamed and cursed. He called her filthy names. He hated her. He spun her against the wall and wanted Jill. He watched Jessica's body suck him in and take him.

She grunted as he forced himself all in and jerked her back on his dick.

He pictured Jill's face and ached for her.

And he cursed her name while he fucked the wrong partner in the steamy heat.

And he didn't know who the hell he was anymore.

He felt like, just maybe, Chris Redfield was dead.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Author's note:
> 
> So, we see that Chris is an utter mess. What a disaster. Jill turns the world upside down for you, dude, and this is how you repay that? Awful. Aha. I get to say that since I wrote him that way. But it feels like how the story has to go.
> 
> I spend so much time on Jill. She feels like the protagonist of the story. Chris comes off as secondary. I'm going to play around with him for a bit and let him flesh out as a character. Flawed, good in his bones, but fucked up. Feels right. He wants to save the world, which is admirable. He doesn't know how to do that and love Jill. He can't do both. Not yet. He's conflicted and struggling. And dumb. Which is charming and works for him.
> 
> Jill isn't the only one who can make stupid sexual decisions after all. Aha.
> 
> I'm going to play over Revelations quickly. The meat of the story has to progress after the Spencer Estate and Jill's…death. The progression of things has to push them further apart before they can find their way back.
> 
> How does it end!? I don't even know the answer to that question.
> 
> Slainte.

XXI: Revelations

:::::::::::::Twenty-One:::::::::

The Queen Zenobia – Somewhere in the Mediterranean

"Friendly BSAA Agents…you have stopped the Regia Solis. You have spared the Queen Zenobia. I will reward you with the knowledge I offer. I will tell you…all about Zenobia…and the secrets she keeps."

The casino was flickering with brilliant spears of color. It was a perfect back drop to the parody of the man who stood above them, gesticulating with his hands from within his respirator. The last of the long dead Veltro. The benefactor of their sojourn through hell.

He'd played them and bled them and manipulated them. He'd led them and tortured and turned their eyes. Parker and Jill watched him now, guns up, faces tired and filthy.

"What secrets?" Parker's tone was fierce and mocking. He was so angry. It radiated off him in waves. Jill glanced at his face and felt the roll of friendship. He'd been the best partner she'd had in a long time.

Looking at his profile, she ached. She ached. Chris…where are you?

She kept her gaze on the man before them.

"One: Why did it take so long to find the Queen Zenobia? How was it able to float around the Mediterranean undetected?" The man paced, high above them, watching them, "Two: Why did all traces of Veltro vanish…after the Terragrigia panic?"

Parker made a sound like a scoff, taunting. "Why don't you tell us, huh?"

The man laughed a little, shrugging, "And three: Why is someone trying to use the Regia Solis to destroy the Zenobia? The answer to those questions, I'm afraid, will lead you to a most inconvenient truth. Are you prepared to know it? I wonder."

Jill could hardly breathe now. The truth was RIGHT HERE. The truth. Finally. What they'd been chasing forever. It was moments away.

The man said, "You were to have found it. And th-"

The gunshot was so loud. It echoed around the casino…and the truth tumbled to the floor with the body of the man with all the answers.

And there was no more hope for the answers.

Three Days Before – Valkoinen Mökki, Finland

The dreams chased him. He tried to avoid them. He tried to deny them.

She kept on falling. He couldn't catch her. He couldn't hold on. Why was she falling? Why was she slipping out of his grip?

Her eyes were so pale. Her hair? Her hair was so pale. Was she a ghost? She said, "You let me go, Chris. You let me go." He kept trying to hold on. He kept losing her. Why? How did it stop? How did he hold on?

Her empty eyes damned him as she slipped the knife in her hands between his ribs.

Chris came awake with a jerk, gasping.

In the filtered light from the frosted window, he was slick with sweat and panting. He funneled his fingers through his hair and rolled his legs to the edge of the bed. His back hunched as he curled forward, covering his face with his hands.

Behind him, the back shifted. And she curled against his back.

He went stiff as her arms slid around his arms and her lips pressed against his shoulder. "You ok?"

Chris shifted, pushing against her. "Quit it. I'm fine."

Jessica scoffed and rolled her eyes. She jerked his arm to turn him toward her and grabbed his chin. Her face was angry now in the moonlight. "Stop being stupid. And shut up. You fucking liar."

He started to jerk away and she held on. Her violet eyes were silver in the moonlight. She finally said, softly, "She's not here. I'm here. Let me take care of you." Her mouth pressed against his, soft. It shifted to press against his forehead. It slid to press against each closed eyelid. He shuddered, shaking his head.

But he let her turn him into her body. He let her hold him. And she said, "Stop looking for her. She's not here. Let me take care of you. Me. Who am I?"

And her name slid from his mouth like a prayer, "Jessica."

"Yeah...Jessica. Not Jill." She slid to her back and he moved atop her. She grabbed his face and looked at him in the moonlight. "Yeah, there is no Jill Valentine here."

She slid her hand down and cupped him. She eased him against her, gasping. "No more, Jill. Not here. Jessica. Say it again."

He whispered it as she slid him against the wet need of her. "...Jessica."

"Yeah. Let me show you." And she eased him into her slick heat.

He made a small sound of regret and slid inside of her. Smooth. It coiled in his guts like snakes. He didn't want the fucking need. He hated the need. He didn't want to need...anything.

Her mouth opened for him. Her body echoed it. She gasped musically. She whispered, "Let me take care of you."

And, god help him, he wanted someone to. He wanted someone to take care of him. Just once. Just for a minute.

He wanted Jill.

But he couldn't have her.

So he opened his fucking eyes to the woman beneath him. She made a small needy moan. She grabbed his hands and they slid their fingers together above her head. She lifted. And he saw her.

Not Jill. He saw Jessica. And he let go of Jill.

Even if he wanted to hold on forever.

Don't let go of me, she'd begged. But it hurt too fucking much. He let her go.

And let Jessica take care of him in the quiet dark.

And he didn't think of Jill again.

The blistering cold stole the breath. It robbed the brain. It left the body without hope of healing. They stood atop the rise and watched the flag waving in the wind.

It was true. It was all true. Veltro had risen from the grave to cast its shadow over the world once more.

Jessica said, softly, "What does it mean?"

And Chris replied, harshly, "What do you think it means? It means we need to get our goddamn signal back. It means we need to contact HQ and let them know. We need boots on the ground here to shut it down - yesterday."

They trekked back through the snow. The harsh climate was painful. Jessica shivered and drew his angry stare. "What?"

"It's fucking colder than a well digger's ass out here. What do you think?"

She wore some kind of fluffy hat on top of her curly hair. Her legs were encased in shiny purple leggings and tucked into furry boots. She looked like she was going to a New York fashion show in Siberia or something. NONE of it was weather appropriate.

Him? He was garbed from tits to toes in layers. His damn face was freezing, sure, but it managed to make him look good with snow gathered on his growing beard. In the graying light, his eyes were a blue nearly as pale as a husky.

She liked it. She liked it on him. Asshole or not? He was something to look at. She smirked a little, "This climate is made for snuggling up by the fire huh?"

"I guess. You know, you could have avoided freezing your tits off. Maybe you should have worn your thermal underwear."

She gave him a long suffering look. He'd been an absolute bastard. Horrid. His brush offs were making her teeth grind. She wanted to kick him in the balls. She wanted to stick her hand in his pants and jerk him off too, so it was a contradiction.

Flirting with Chris Redfield? A total fucking waste of time. The guy was impervious or stupid or not interested. But it was another contradiction. Because it hadn't stopped him from fucking her stupid either. What a mess he was.

They separated at the inn to warm up and shift out of their gear. Chris kept trying to get the damn signal back as the frigid winter wind continued to pelt the world with fury. He cursed and punched the wall beside the window, watching the white beyond churn and tumble.

They needed back up and they needed it now. This was getting ridiculous.

He jerked on a pair of sweats and an undershirt, leaving his room to head to Jessica's. Maybe she'd had better luck. He knocked and she opened the door. Her face was straight pissed off.

She was in the towel this time. It was wrapped around her while she leaned in the door. Her wet hair trailed around her shoulders. "What? I don't have time to listen to you bitch at me. You get HQ on the line?"

He shook his head. "This fucking storm is meaner than piss. It won't let up."

"You have that in common apparently. You always treat your partners like you hate them? Or you just save that for the ones you fuck? You know, my name? It's JESSICA, you asshole. Jessica. Not "hey you". Not "bitch". J-E-S-S-I-C-A. You need help spelling it? It is NOT Jill. Just for the record."

So, he actually felt kinda bad about how he'd been treating her. He wasn't generally a rude man. He was actually laid back and funny. Seemingly. At least he had been once upon a time.

Chris lifted a brow at her. "Message received. You gonna let me in?"

Jessica pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. "I'm thinking about it."

He shifted, and she glimpsed those tattoos on his chest. She liked the tattoos. The tattoos said he was a guy with a soul. He acted like a retarded asshole…but he apparently cared about things in his life enough to etch them on his skin.

"Come on. I'm sorry ok? I'm a bastard. It's a long story. Suffice it to say, it's not you."

"Jill?"

He ground his teeth.

She was rapidly learning he didn't like to talk about Jill. Ever. "You gonna start trusting me any time soon? Or are you gonna keep punishing me for not being her?"

Since that was..kinda…true, he relented a little more. "Fair enough. Trust is earned through actions though, Jessica, not words. I can't offer it just because you ask."

"How about kindness? Can you offer that?"

She turned away from the door when he didn't answer, shaking her head. She left it open so he could come through. She moved to her desk to start fiddling with the communicator again.

Closing the door, Chris tried to find the right words here. "Partners aren't made, Jessica. Not really. You can't work with someone and just click. Not usually. Jill and I? We clicked."

Jessica turned back to him. She cocked a hand on her hip. "Yeah? How often? All day? Did you click in a sixty-nine? How about doggy style? Did you click with her like you "click" with me? She click on your dick while tonguing your balls?"

Chris shook his head, sighing. "Can't you focus on the mission here? Just a little? What is this?"

Jessica sighed herself and shrugged. "All about the job, huh Chris? Always the fucking job. But you know what? It wasn't about the goddamn job when you were fucking me earlier. I didn't hear you lecturing me about earning trust then. You generally toss that enormous dick to someone you don't trust like that?"

"I've fucked plenty of women I didn't trust. I'm a guy. You think I worry about shit like that when you're twisting on my dick and screaming? Please. Separate one from the other, Jessica. You said you could. You takin that back?"

Jessica eyed him, angry. She lifted a brow. "Why? You think you can separate them?"

"Yeah. I can. I've done it my whole life."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

She lifted her hands and dropped the towel. It tumbled to the floor. "So, separate them. Stand there and look at me like a partner."

He shifted. She waited.

She slid her palm down her taut belly and touched herself. And she kinda loved the angry want that speared across his face. She liked the ragged five o-clock shadow at five a.m. on him too. She hated him, objectively, but she kinda liked his shitty attitude. All her life men had chased her around cooing and flirting. He didn't even bother. He just told her to shut up and screwed her so hard her eyes crossed.

And he finally ground out, between his teeth, "Stop fucking with me, Jessica. I'm not kidding."

"Oh, I can see that. And for the record?" She moved toward him, "I haven't even begun to start fucking with you."

He hated her.

He did.

It didn't stop him from letting her stick her hands in his pants. He didn't even drop them. She pushed them around his thighs and he pushed her against the wall and drilled her with his fingers.

She was gasping and screaming when the communicator buzzed and popped on the desk. She kept on bouncing on his lap in the chair where she shoved him. It was utterly dirty. He was still mostly dressed. He'd done little more than poke his dick out of his pants. She had his arms pinned behind the back of the chair while she fucked him. Her other hand was gripping his jaw to jerk his head back and tongue his mouth.

The communicator popped again. A voice came through garbled.

He grunted, gasping a little, "Stop. Wait. Jesus Christ."

"No. Shut up. Idiot." She slapped down on his lap, ground there, and hissed, "Fill me up, asshole."

Jesus she was such a bitch. He grunted again and jerked his arms free from her grip. She laughed, darkly, and he grabbed her hips and slapped her down on him. He jerked her body down while she bucked and came around him, soaking his lap.

He rasped, "…whore."

And she was laughing as the communicator popped to life. "…hris…come in?"

Chris shoved her to the side and hit the button, "O'Brien?" His voice was raspy and gruff.

"Yeah! Thank god! Where are you?"

"Finland. We just came from the airport here. Why?"

"…damnit. DAMNIT. It was a set up. I knew it. Damnit. Jill and Parker are missing. They went searching. Someone threw a red herring to get them out there."

Jill was missing.

Jill….was missing.

"What did you say?" And he gasped as Jessica twisted her hips, slapped a hand over his mouth, and rode him to the finish.

He grunted in her hand, "Fuck…stop. Fucking bitch." He was too close. He couldn't stop it. He kinda hated himself even as he pumped her full of his load. It burst out of him like a desperate thing. She made a sound of need and moved her hand to fuck his mouth with her tongue.

He shoved her face away even as his damn body kept spurting in her. She smirked and rolled her body on him, clenching.

Chris hated her. He hated her. It rolled in his guts like fire. She was riding his fucking dumb stick and Jill was missing. Jill…

"Where is she? Where, O'Brien?"

"We're getting the coordinates. What did you find there?"

Jessica said, dramatically, "O'Brien? You're not gonna like this." And she uploaded the feed from their discovery to his device.

From HQ, Clive's voice came back to them, "I see it. I see it. Damnit. Veltro. Fuck. Ok. Get back here. Let's see what we can do."

Chris answered him, angry. "No. I'm going after Jill. Now."

"Right. Right. Hurry."

Clive signed off. Jessica grabbed his face. "Jill needs you. What else matters right?"

Chris shook his head while the guilt swirled in his guts and haunted him. He'd been plowing this bitch for days while Jill was lost. Jill was lost…looking for him. She was lost out there while he was here…balls deep in the shadow of her.

He grabbed her arms and jerked her off him. He set her aside and rose. "Fucking Christ. What am I doing here? I'm going after, Jill. You do whatever you want."

She slapped him. And it was the first time he felt like he deserved it. He did. He'd been using her. They both knew it.

Jessica shoved him so hard he stumbled. "I will help you. I will help you find her. It's my job. I'm good at my job. I do my job even when my partner is an asshole. Just an FYI, handsome? Don't even think about taking your anger at yourself out on me. Try to cut it down anyway you want here but you weren't worried about Jill when you were using that huge dick to fuck me in the shower this morning. And you weren't worried about Jill when you were nutting up in me this afternoon. And you definitely weren't worried about Jill when you woke up three times last night to stuff me like a Christmas turkey."

He shoved passed her and she grabbed his arm to hold him still. "That won't bother you nearly as much as the worst part though, will it?"

He jerked on his arm but she didn't let go. Jessica leaned up into his face and whispered, "The third time you rolled on me last night? It wasn't her name you said….it was mine. You might have been trying to fuck Jill before that. Maybe you pretended I was her and that helped assuage the guilt. But that last time?"

She grabbed his chin and pressed her mouth to his. "That last time was all me baby. All me. And it was slow and sweet and tender. Remember? You kissed me and held me and stroked me. And you whispered my name in my ear when you came."

The guilt tried to eat him alive. He shoved her away but she held on, mercilessly. "It's ok to fight it, baby. It's alright. Deny it all you want. But you fell asleep curled up against me. You slept in that bed over there with me. And you loved it. And THAT'S what is killing you right now. She's out there looking for you…and you're here with me, loving it. Take that with you when you storm out of here. Let that eat you up. But don't you dare take it out on me."

She tossed his arm away. "Go gear up…partner. We've got a damsel in distress waiting on us."

Chris spun away and slammed the door. And he hated her. He hated everything about her.

Partly because she was a conniving bitch.

And partly because she wasn't entirely wrong.

He hadn't known Jill was missing. He hadn't known. But he'd been here for three days now fucking Jessica Sherawat. He'd been plowing her belly to try to forget Jill.

And Jill was somewhere trapped or scared or in trouble.

He wasn't sure how to stop the pain of it from eating him alive.

Under the quiet cover of darkness, the phone call was a whisper amongst the pines.

"Yes, sir. Yes. I understand. It's done. Absolutely. Yes." The woman shifted and the moonlight spilled cool and silver over her pretty face. The dark of the clouds gapped and showed the violet of her eyes to the questioning sky. "Are you sure, sir? Are you positive? Termination would be easier here."

She listened, she nodded, she waited. The voice on the other end was wryly amused and decisive.

"Do your job well and you'll be rewarded. Fail me? And I will see you destroyed. Alive. I want them both left alive. The girl especially. I have…plans for her."

"And him?" She shifted and the moonlight on that face showed just the smallest hint of regret. She didn't like the idea of killing him and she didn't like knowing it.

"He is necessary for things to progress. Wound him but leave him alive. Are we clear?"

"Crystal. Thank you, sir."

"You've sold your soul to the devil, Agent Sherawat. Be careful before you thank him for collecting it. Remember this: Jill Valentine is to be kept alive…at all costs."

The call ended and left her in the frigid cold. It sank into her bones and numbed her. She turned her head to look up at the window where he stood, watching the moon.

And she didn't like knowing that she'd come to care about him in the last few days. She wasn't a fucking monster. She was still a woman. And yeah, he was an asshole. He was a fucked up mess. But he was also lonely and little sad and a little lost. And she had regrets about using him.

It didn't change anything…but she had regrets.

It wouldn't stop her from putting a bullet between his eyes if she had to.

She stood in the freezing air after he'd hung up…and hated herself.

On the other end of the disconnected line, he studied the black and white photo on the desk before him. It was profile. It was distance. It was in motion. She was in mid-turn and her hair swirled in its ponytail as she moved. He tapped his lips, looking at her face.

How quickly she'd turned into his soldier when Redfield was threatened. How quickly she abandoned everything she believed in for him. It was a twist he hadn't seen coming. He'd always, always, counted on Redfield being the one who turn aside his morals to protect her. But her devotion to the former S.T.A.R.S. sniper was unparalleled here.

They'd stood in the warm breeze while she'd looked him in the eye, unflinching, and agreed.

Brow arched, he'd studied her determined face. "Just like that? You don't wish to know what or when or why?"

Valentine had shook her head. She'd stood in the tickling pulse of summer and shook her head. "It doesn't matter. But it comes with guarantees. It comes with a price, Wesker. A real one."

Oh. He hadn't anticipated she'd try to play him. It was entertaining. It was intriguing. He was fascinated by her. Humans were often so predictable and simple. She wasn't. There was untapped wells in her that needed to be explored. He wanted to know what beat beneath the simplicity of her breast. He wanted to know what she fought for. And what she was willing to die for.

He waited, watching the shift of her pale eyes in the moonlight.

She finally intoned, "You will never touch him again. Ever. If you do, if you hurt him or breathe on him, or so much as scratch him...I will never stop until you are dead. I will put you and all your powers in the ground and bury you. I don't give a fuck how powerful you've become. I don't care what you are anymore. I will stick a rocket launcher up your ass and blow you away. Do you understand me?"

He couldn't help it. Her wordplay...it amused him. But he inclined his head, almost graciously, "I will leave him as he is. Stupid, it would seem, and noble. Unable to offer you in return this unprecedented love and devotion you bestow on him. But will he stop? I think not. He will continue to chase me down. Should he come against me, Jill, I will kill him. You have to know this."

They held eyes. And she finally spoke, softly, on the gentle wind. "If you kill him, I will spend every breath left in my body sending you after him. Agree, Wesker. Or this ends now. And we see if you can survive a grenade up the ass."

And she'd held one in her small hand. His brows had lifted. He'd thrown back his head and laughed. He'd laughed. And he hadn't laughed like that since he'd shaken loose his mortal coils and become a god.

He'd watched her face...and agreed. Redfield was a fool. He'd walk into his own demise easily enough. And the game had always included taking the girl. He'd take her, when the time was right, he'd mold her. She would hollow out and fill with the drive to become so much more.

She stood in the wind with a grenade and wasn't afraid to destroy them both to protect the man she loved.

That kind of strength intrigued him. He could hardly wait to see how far she'd go when he freed her from the shackles of that devotion.

The Queen Zenobia – Somewhere in the Mediterranean

Casino – 2:14 a.m.

Parker ran toward the fallen man, shouting in anger.

Jill spun back to see who'd fired.

And the Barbie doll in the wetsuit that faced her zinged into her stomach and lodged there. Because she wasn't alone. She wasn't alone.

And with a single sound of his voice, the world righted itself again. Her world righted itself. Because he was alive. And that was all that had ever mattered anyway.

The man that grabbed her gun and shoved it up had been missing for days. She'd torn the world apart trying to find him. She'd panicked and nearly lost her mind trying to locate him. She didn't know he'd done the same from the moment he'd found out she was missing.

He'd ended up on the wrong ship. He'd plowed through a thousand monsters trying to get to her. And he'd stood in the bilge and looked up…to find the wrong name on the wall of the ship. The Queen Semiramis. THE WRONG FUCKING SHIP.

Jill had stood outside a dirty chamber and stared at his body bound to a chair. But it hadn't been him. Of course, not. A dumbie. A fake. A lie.

And the start of a conspiracy that was still swirling around them like madness.

Parker looked down into the face of the dying Raymond Vester, the former FBC agent, the person who'd lied and manipulated and led them like rats in a cage. Parker leaned down to hear his final confession.

Chris shouted now, fuming, "Jessica! What the fuck?! Why did you shoot!?"

Jessica shoved back against him. The anger on her face was legion. "I was protecting our people! Isn't that our job!? Isn't that what you're always screaming about? Loyalty right?"

"He wasn't offering them violence, you little fool, he was only talking."

"He was VELTRO, Chris. Veltro! Remember Veltro? They destroyed an entire city. What makes you think he wasn't going to do the same to your precious Jill?" Jessica jerked her arm away from him. "Let me do my fucking job here...Captain."

And the derision in her voice was like acid to the ears of the other two people in the room.

On the ground, Jill watched them. She volleyed her eyes between them. She watched his face. Her gaze settled on it and held. And she knew.

She just knew.

It shivered in her guts and she felt her face warm with blood.

Chris was fucking the Barbie doll.

She'd bet her life on it.

They moved down the stairs, Jessica Sherawat wearing…some kind of wet suit that had apparently started life as a slutty Halloween costume? It was something. It left one long leg completely bare.

Parker glanced at Jill and bobbled his brows. She laughed and shook her head, shrugging.

Chris wore black and more gear then there was space on his big body. He was geared up like he was going to single-handedly fight the world. That was his thing after all.

Parker said, out of the side his mouth, "I should object to it. It's utterly useless…and yet…I'm thankful for its design."

Jill chuckled and winked at him. "Just an old lech under that European charm, huh big guy?"

"Well...just a man anyway. And Jessica is such a flirt. It's a rare man that doesn't look when the view is...so lovely."

Parker's Italian accent was thick and charming. Parker was charming. He reminded her of Barry. He'd made working together fun and simple. Apparently, Jessica had made working together hard and sweaty for Chris.

The jealousy swirled in her belly and pissed her off. Jill eyed them as they crossed the flashing floor of the casino.

Jessica spoke first, "Parker, Jill…good to see you. We would have gotten here sooner but that idiot Quint gave us the coordinates to the wrong damn ship."

Jill kept looking at her. She could feel Chris watching her. She wasn't quite ready to face him yet.

Jill answered, "Anything worth knowing about the other ship?"

Chris replied to her and she was finally forced to shift her gaze to him. "We searched the Sermiramis. The layout is nearly identical. I think I can get us to the lab."

Jill studied his face. What was on it? It was something.

Parker opened his mouth to respond and the ship pitched. It pitched hard. Jill stumbled and Parker grabbed her arm to steady her. Jessica staggered and grabbed onto to Chris. Her fingers curled around his vest. She threw her whole body against him.

Parker lifted both brows at Jill. She shook her head.

"The ship doesn't have much longer." She eyed Jessica…who was still clinging to Chris. Jill wanted to grind her teeth. "It's sinking, Chris. Fast. And we can't let it the damn virus into the ocean. If this T-Abyss gets loose, it'll infect everything it touches."

Chris gripped Jessica's arms and forcibly pulled her off him. He set her away from him with an irritated look. She smirked a little.

Parker mused, "I can stay behind and try to find a way to hold off the sinking. Jessica, how about you hang with me for awhile?"

Jessica glanced between him, Jill, and Chris. Chris wasn't even bothering to look at her. His stupid eyes were all up in Jill's shit. What was it about her?

She wasn't even pretty. She had a boy face. And stingy little lips. Her nose was small and flat. And her butt looked like a fat bubble in that wet suit, so she could stand to lose a few pounds. And yet both Parker and Chris were all about staring at her.

Jessica shoved away from Chris with a sigh, "Sure. Why not?"

Jill said, "Ok. Then I guess you're with me, Chris."

Wow.

So…yeah. She couldn't sound less thrilled. He shifted, feeling that boil of guilt in his guts again that irritated him. "Looks that way."

Parker grinned, "Alright then. A little friendly partner swapping, yes? Keeps things fresh."

Chris and Jill started toward the stairs to leave the casino. He offered her something small and black and pokey. Jill lifted her brows.

"It's a pulse grenade. Quint designed it to work underwater. It may be the only damn thing we have to fight with."

Jill took it and tucked it into her pack on her back. "Neato. Thanks."

He eyed her as they mounted the stairs and she went to grab the door handle. He tried again to please her, just a little. "I marked all the locations where the lab could be on the map on my palm device. Should give us a good jumping off point anyway."

"Cool. Thanks, Chris."

Jesus.

She sounded wooden. Her face was frozen in lines of polite conversation like she'd been shot full of Botox. It was like talking to a doll. She kept giving the right answers. But they sounded all wrong. He wanted to hear her laugh.

He wanted her to smile.

He wanted to go back to the moment in the rain when he'd walked away. He wanted to take it back.

And he couldn't.

So, he just kept talking about procedure and protocol.

Behind them, Jessica cocked a hip and snorted. "He never got it. What a dumbass. He's a total fucking drag, ya know?"

Parker glanced at her, smirking. "Is he? Or maybe he's already taken."

Jessica considered it and hated it. All of it. She sighed, "Whatever. Let's get this over with, huh?"

"Shit. Try to sound less excited, yeah?"

Jessica shrugged and stalked away. Parker glanced up to where Chris and Jill had gone and hoped the mood was less chilly in that direction.

The moment the door sealed shut at his back, Chris said, "Ok. What? What is it?"

Jill glanced at him and moved into the security office where they found themselves to click buttons and search for the right way out. She eyed him blandly. "What do you mean?"

"You're acting like I kicked your puppy here. What is it?"

Shaking her head, Jill clicked between security feeds at the monitor station to see different parts of the ship. She gave him a dry look again. "It's nothing. It's work. You know, professionalism? Or maybe that died for you somewhere in the last few days. Who's to say?"

Shit.

He tilted his head. "What?"

Annoyed, Jill shook her head again. "Forget it. You ready? I think we'll take the ladder to head toward the lab."

She passed by him and he grabbed her arm to halt her. "Fuck that. Start talking. What's wrong?"

Jill jerked her arm away, snorting. "No. There's no time for this kind of shit right now. You aren't going to drag me down into some emotional showdown right now. Me? I'm doing my damn job here. I've been doing it for days…looking for you. Apparently? You've been just fine."

She started down the ladder.

He stood there for a moment, hurting. Yeah. She was pissed.

Chris let it simmer as they trekked toward the lab. They both did their jobs. They did indeed. They didn't talk. They didn't joke. They didn't do a damn thing but act like wooden puppets. It felt like being kicked in the balls until he wanted to barf.

He hated this. He hated all of it.

It was his fault. It was. He'd thrown down the wall between them. She'd stood in the rain confessing her love and he'd denied her. He'd shut her down. He'd shut her away. He'd run off and buried his balls in the first woman that wasn't her to try to evict her from his fucking soul. He needed a fucking mirror to pull a John Constantine and rip her out of him.

He was wrong.

And he HATED being wrong. He hated dwelling in the regret of it. Where was the guy who'd laughed off the world and fought the good fight and loved the girl in the beret? Where was that guy?

Dead. Apparently.

The door before them clunked and turned. It opened slowly with a metallic spin of the wheels. It was beautiful, objectively, like the face of a clock missing the hands and the numbers. He could see golden gears and cogs turning as it opened. He glanced at her face and kept on watching her while it turned.

She didn't look back. She kept looking forward. She said, "So…this is the secret of the Zenobia, huh? What a girl she is. She's been hiding quite a bit."

Chris replied, softly, "She's a woman, right? Nothing but secrets."

Jill turned her head, watching his face as the door turned and cast shadows on him. "Not just women, it seems. Apparently? Everybody has them. Wanna know a secret, Red?" She leaned a little toward him, conspiratorially. "Everybody lies."

He took a step toward her. "Jill…I—"

The door clunked and opened. It spilled them onto a balcony entirely made of steel. The room was steel, from one end to the other. In the center, an enormous tank waited, filled with fluid the color of blood in the bathwater. It was pink and reddish and filled with infection.

A small console was attached to it, offering the viewer the chance to tinker with the controls on something with the ability to eradicate all life in the entire world. Frightening. Like it was nothing. Like it was just another Sunday afternoon.

A tank filled with death.

A small room sat to one side and Jill cleared her way into it while Chris moved to the console. She studied the machine there, curious. It flashed a warning at her about exposure. Blinking, she pressed a button and watched it ask for I.D.

She jumped when the voice behind her said, "Try this."

Jill turned her head and he stepped up behind her and put the I.D. card in his hand over the scanner. He didn't…he didn't have to be so close. He could have asked her to step aside. He didn't. He just…pressed against her and scanned the card.

The machine beeped and let out of a mechanical sound of music. It informed them, tonelessly, and in some kind of haughty accent: "Inoculation procedure initiated. Please await finalized results."

Chris intoned, quietly, "Inoculation? They have a fucking vaccine for this thing?"

Jill turned her face toward him. She replied, almost a whisper, "Apparently. Sometimes you can stop the thing that hurts before it kills you."

Chris shifted, and they were so close that their noses brushed. He glanced at her mouth and murmured, "Maybe some things are worth dying for."

Jill made a small sound, "What's worth dying for, Chris?"

He hummed in his throat and angled down to her. "Jill…I miss you."

He pretty much whispered it against her mouth. And she wanted him. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to stand here in this lab and kiss him until they were both breathless. But he'd turned her aside. He'd been holed up somewhere with that bitch while Jill had torn the world apart to find him. And she needed to know one thing. Just one. She wasn't sure. Maybe she was seeing something that wasn't there. So, she had to know. She needed to hear him say it.

She whispered back, "Do you? Hard to miss me…when you're balls deep in Jessica Sherawat."

He froze. He blinked. Jill eyed him from an inch away. She shifted and their noses brushed again. The truth was all over him. He flinched around the eyes...and it was the first time she'd ever, ever, come close to hating him.

And she said, "Yeah. I can see her all over you. I can see it. Say it and be done with it."

The guilt on his face healed her a little. It was so clear he was sorry that it was like watching him fall apart. He was sorry as hell for it. And she knew, in her bones, he hadn't known she was missing. She believed that. But it didn't matter. Not really. It didn't matter.

Because he was covered in Jessica Sherawat. And it broke her fucking heart.

"I'm so sorry." It dragged out of his chest and hurt her. It hurt them both. She believed him.

But it didn't matter anymore.

Jill stepped back, shaking her head. She made a small sound of pain. "I know you are. Let's leave it. Let's…just leave it."

"Jill…"

She shook her head and the machine beeped. "Inoculation created."

Jill took the sample and held his gaze. She gripped his vest and didn't let him look away…and she shoved the plunger into his neck. He grunted and jerked. His hands slid against her back and over her ass. He pulled her into him and Jill whispered, "Don't. Please. Don't."

His hands curled over her wetsuit, shaping her to him. She knew, she could feel, that he was very happy to have her pressed against him. And it was the first time she hated him for it. "Let go of me, Chris."

Angry, he let her go.

She backed off, shaking a little. "It's not my business. Any of it. Do what you want. Do who you want. It's not my business."

And now he said nothing, aching for her.

The machine beeped another sample and he turned and palmed it. She watched him, she waited. He skimmed a hand up her neck and tilted her face up to him. She gripped his vest again in both hands.

He grunted, low and dragging. It was so deep it hurt to hear it. "I would never hurt you, Jill. Ever. Not like that. Not on purpose. I swear to god, I'd have come for you if I'd known. I swear to god, I would have. Do you think I wouldn't? Do you think I'd have let you run around like this trying to find me if I'd known? Jill...Jill..god damnit..."

Her heart was pounding. She kept seeing him in the snow between the legs of that fucking model out there. She probably even fucked pretty. She probably wore make up while she screamed and came all over him. She probably took the whole thing without bleeding and hurting.

How did she forgive that? She'd traded everything she believed in for him. And he'd repaid her by throwing that huge dick of his to Super Spy Barbie in a one legged wet suit. What had Parker said? What kind of man said no to that?

Apparently, not Chris. Chris and his stupid penis. His stupid, huge, barbie doll fucking penis. His stupid freight training dick. Jill made a small sound of pain.

She shook her head. His hand curled around her ponytail and angled her face to his. He leaned down and brushed their mouths together.

She made a sound again. "Chris, don't. Don't. It doesn't matter."

He trembled and bumped their foreheads together. His eyes closed. Hers were wide open and watching him. He trembled, and stole her soul with it. "He said you were missing. He said and…I couldn't find you. I kept looking. I tore that ship apart trying to find you. I don't know how to do this, Jill. I don't know how to exist in a world where you don't love me anymore. I don't know how to do this."

And it hurt her to hear it. It hurt. Because she felt the same. She breathed. "Yes you do. You do. You did it. You just move on. Move on, Chris. You did that. You pushed me out. You pushed me away. Stop loving me and move on. It's all you can do. I'm not in your world anymore. Say goodbye. And let me go."

He made a small sound. He shoved the plunger into her neck. She gasped and gripped him. And he whispered, "I don't know how."

Jill shifted her hands. She grabbed his face. His eyes opened, holding hers. And she intoned, low and hard, "I don't either. I don't. But it starts by letting go of me. Let go. And walk away. I'll get your back. I'll stand beside you. Always. But you made a choice not to love me anymore. Stick to your guns here. I won't survive it otherwise. I can't keep choosing you and having you walk away."

She shoved him back, shaking her head. "I can't. I'm sorry. I tore the world apart to find you…and you spent that time fucking some other girl. We're done. We've been trying so hard to hold on. But we're done. Let us be done. Let me go. It's ok. It's ok to let go. You don't love me anymore. So, let me go."

He grabbed her arm as she passed him and the ship pitched, spilling her against him. He turned her, turned her in, and held on. She made a small sound and stood stiff and cold.

Chris muttered, "You're my best friend, Jill." And it sounded so broken. So hurt. She hated it. She hated the pain here. She hated it. And she loved him.

Her arms came up and looped, squeezing. She squeezed, just once, just hard enough to steal his breath. And then she let go of him. Proving she could. She still could.

She answered, "I'll always be your best friend. Always. That will NEVER change. I just can't love you anymore. I'm sorry. Let me go. Please."

He trembled.

And she whispered, "Let me go, Chris. Now."

He let her go. And it nearly killed him.

She said, softly, "For the record? Your taste in women is awful. It sucks. You can do better than that brainless pair of tits back there. Stop thinking with your dick. Idiot."

And she walked out of the chamber without looking back.

He shifted and put his palms on the wall. He breathed. The pain of it swirled in his guts and came out of his mouth in a small hitching breath. It was him. It was his fault. All of it. He'd hurt her so badly. There was no fixing it.

She'd done wrong. She'd done the wrong thing to show him he was all that mattered. She'd done wrong trying to love him. And he'd turned her away and buried himself in something that didn't matter. He'd burned the girl that had lain in his arms once and begged him to never let go. The penny in his wallet was still there. The penny she'd given him.

And now it was all he had left of her.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Author's note:
> 
> So, now the great divide has happened. They are estranged. Not just choosing to stay apart for the purpose of the fight, they are broken.
> 
> In the midst of that broken mess, I'm going to push the story toward 5. I'm robbing from their dynamic in Absolution again here. It fits and remains perfectly crafted in terms of their friendship and their love. It sets up Jill's…death. If you read that, you've read the first part of the Spencer Estate– although not entirely. If not, it's brutal. And it's amended to fit the story here. But, essentially, that story spawned this one – so I knew there were parts I was going to pull over.
> 
> I've been feeling the push to see what happens when Twin Souls fracture. Shall we see?
> 
> Slainte.
> 
> ….

XXII: Fractured - Forgotten - Forgiveness

:::::::::::::Twenty-Two:::::::::

The broken nature of a mirror often leaves the reflection…skewed. It allows a warped and perverted visualization of that which attempts to look into its shattered depths. Jill Valentine existed in a broken mirror.

They put Veltro to bed. They buried the conspiracy created by Morgan Lansdale to destroy the world through viral evolution. They did their job. And when Jessica Sherawat turned on them and stole the sample…Jill didn't even rub it in. She just did her job.

Isn't that why the BSAA was created after all?

She kept true to her word. She tried to be his friend.

She knew the guilt of fucking a traitor chased him in the dark and killed him. She listened against the wall to him pace. She listened to him curse. She listened to it break him down and destroy him. And she didn't judge him. But part of her...relished his pain.

She watched him rebuild, rise, and fight on.

It was all he knew how to do.

He became PAINFULLY professional.

He didn't so much as fart in the general direction of girls. Ever.

They kept things light and easy between them. Dog was their bond. They still walked him and played with him and had lunch and dinner and hung out. They joked. They teased.

They were friends.

There was no more love there. Not like that. Not anymore.

She stared at her face in the mirror above her bed, and lied. Of course, she loved him. She'd always love him. Always.

But it was done.

So, she let it be done.

Wesker was as good as his word. He was silent. They chased rumors of him and found nothing. There were hints that he'd been underground and building a coup against whomever he was working with. It didn't surprise her.

He was loyal to no one after all.

She was sent in to help clean up the Harvardville incident where Claire had been trapped and fighting for her life. Chris wasn't available. He was in deep cover and couldn't be pulled.

Jill and Claire cleaned up the mess of the ravaged airport and the betrayal by Curtis Miller and Frederic Downing. The loss of the T-Virus vaccine stockpile was hard. It was tragic. They scrambled to try to rebuild.

She spent three days cleaning up bodies.

Jill came out on the fourth morning from the tent where she was sleeping during the recovery effort. She was in a white tank top and cargo pants in pea green. She watched Claire talking and laughing and drinking coffee. Claire shifted left and revealed her companion.

And there was Leon Kennedy.

She'd known that USSTRATCOM had sent him alone to help evacuate those trapped within the airport. She knew he was the best at what he did. She knew he was a lot of things.

And she knew it was good to see him.

He lifted his head a little and looked over Claire's. They locked eyes. Jill saluted him with her coffee. He smirked and winked.

He eased toward her, wearing some kind of monochrome idea of secret agent chic. Black and leather and red beneath the jacket. The wrap sunglasses he slipped on his face made the package.

Leon Kennedy said, "Jill Valentine…you look good. I like that tank top on you."

Jill tilted her head, smiling, "Oh, yeah?"

"Yep. Looks good on you." He leaned down a little and said, out the side of his mouth, "Would look better on my floor though. Just sayin."

"You asking me to go to bed with you, Leon Kennedy?"

He considered it and took her coffee. She smiled, amused, as he took a sip. And answered, balls out…no bullshit, "I'm asking you to fuck. The going to bed part only happens after I wear you out. So, it's subjective."

And she laughed for the first time in a way she hadn't since before Chris had stood in the rain and killed her. She liked the laughing. She'd always liked him. It felt really good to like someone that wasn't trying to steal her soul.

She spent three days cleaning up Harvardville and having lunch with Claire.

And three more hanging out with Leon Kennedy.

He reminded her of Chris when they'd first met. That carefree, charming, no bullshit charm that fairly poured out of him. He didn't want anything from her but her time.

And maybe her body.

And she missed that.

There was no drama when she said goodbye. Just a good, long, tongue swirling kiss in the early dawn as he headed off to whatever emergency needed the best. He walked backward, watching her. "Always a pleasure, Ms. Valentine. Should I call you later to talk dirty?"

"Naturally. Make sure I'm in church when you do. Makes it so much better."

And he laughed as he leaped into the chopper that waited to take him away.

Rolling in the sheets with Leon Kennedy lifted her spirits. It cleared out the cobwebs. She was able to focus again on what she was doing.

She eased up at work. She started joking.

She tossed the whoopie cushion under Chris during a horribly tense meeting regarding a viral outbreak in Taiwan.

The sound of flatulence was so loud that it startled Quint, who subsequently farted into the silence that followed.

Quint had a habit of farting when he was nervous.

It was charming…if somewhat disgusting.

Jill doodled on her pad with a pen, staring hard at the nonsense she was writing. Someone laughed. She glanced up at Barry, who was leaning back in his chair and grinning at her.

And so she took a chance and turned her head.

Chris had his arms crossed over his chest. He didn't look amused at all. He looked, as he often did, dark and brooding. He could barely cross his big arms over that rapidly expanding chest of his. The muscle looked good on him.

As the room started to clear out following the meeting, Jill grabbed up her pad and pens and rose from her seat. She jumped a little as Chris leaned in from behind her and said, quietly, into her ear, "So it's like that, Valentine?"

She turned her head. Their noses bumped. She grinned, wide and sharp, "Isn't it always like that?"

And he grinned back. "Message received…and game on."

The muscle looked good on him.

The grin?

It looked better.

The whoopie cushion was everywhere. It was back with a vengeance. It found its way into meetings and dinners and on dates. She went on a date with a handsome ambassador and the whoopie cushion ended up under his ass when they came back from dancing.

She looked for Chris…and couldn't find him.

The practical jokes started one fine Monday morning. She was late getting to work. She dropped her keys in her coffee. She couldn't find a shoe. She burned her neck curling her hair.

It was a shitty morning. Her normal disorganization was painful.

She hurried into the conference room, late for a meeting, and came face to face with Leon Kennedy.

She bobbled her folders, ran right into him, and he grabbed her arms to steady her.

"Whoa! You ok?"

And she looked up with a grin. "I should have known it would be you."

He leaned down a little and whispered, conspiratorially, "I volunteered when they told me."

Jill grinned a little, "Really?"

"Mmm. I was hoping to see you again."

And now she was highly amused, "Is that so?"

"It is. This is nice. But I'd like to see MORE of you. Maybe upside down. Definitely naked. What do you say?"

She opened her mouth to agree…and the slide show started on the wall.

It wasn't bioterror. It was NOT work related.

It was, however, a slide show of her in various embarrassing situations. She was young and laughing while she tried to grab Steven Tyler's ass. The next was her pretending to deep dick the banana she'd won at the parade. She was sitting on a couch in the next one – in sunglasses and smoking a cigar – beside a wax statue of George Bush. The next showed her asleep and someone had drawn a picture of a dick on her face. Her hand was being prepped to be dunked in a bucket of ice water.

Leon raised his brows, chuckling. "Pretty sure the lecture was meant to be about T-Virus infection rates in Africa. I am NOT seeing any zombies here."

Jill rolled her gaze to the man beside the slideshow. She lifted her brows at him. He grinned and shrugged.

Jill pursed her lips as the next picture showed her and Chris on the gun range. He was pointing to a large blown apart hole in a target. He was holding a sign that said – Jill shot first. It was evident the target wasn't her work. She'd missed completely. The wall beside the target was sporting her handywork. Chris' face in the picture was comic. Hers? Not so much.

The next slide was an exploded safe. It was captured mid smoke after the failsafe had been triggered…and she'd failed to pick the lock on it. Chris was in the picture again. He was holding a sign above the smoking safe. It read: The Master of Unlocking was here.

Jill said, quietly, "Little bastard."

Leon chuckled.

Naturally, Chris was embarrassing her in front of him. The man she was trying to nail. He was slit stopping. It was cock blacking without the cock. Why not? The little shit.

She had dinner with Leon Kennedy. The meal was good. The conversation better.

She almost didn't miss Chris when she was with him. Almost.

She was a horrible liar.

She was kinda afraid there would never be another man to reflect her soul like Chris Redfield.

And it terrified her.

Chris came to work a week later to find a video of himself being broadcasted in the main lobby of the BSAA building. It was a contribution from Claire, obviously. It was him post college with that…awful haircut. He was playing a guitar in a garage with the band he'd tried to start. His singing was awful. His guitar playing was worse.

And his whole company was enjoying the hell out of it.

He made a note to KILL Claire next time he saw her.

The show wasn't over. His young self was belting out Billy Idol with a vengeance. It was pretty fucking bad.

Jill was leaning on the desk in reception. Chris stopped beside her and said, "Touche'."

And she was still laughing as he walked off.

It wasn't perfect. But it was better.

It was better when Chris Redfield was your best friend again. It was better.

Even if she was still staring into a broken mirror, trying to find the truth.

The Spender Estate – 2006

The Spencer Estate was Raccoon City all over it again. It was nearly identical, nearly frighteningly identical. They emerged inside and were immediately swamped in Déjà vu and horror. Jill glanced at Chris beside her.

"What's happening here?"

"I don't know. Keep your guard up."

"Should we split up?"

"That didn't go so well the last time right?"

"Last time Wesker was trying to kill us."

"He still is. Wherever he is." Chris moved into the lobby and glanced around. He shook himself, like a dog coming out of the water. "This isn't going to go well."

"No…no it's not."

"I should have stayed home."

"Yeah? You have a date tonight?"

He glanced at her and kinda smiled. Oh, she thought with surprise, he had had a date. Wow. Jill joked, "Who? Dear lord, who? Who got in there?"

"Alex."

"The lady who brings the mail!?" Jill tried to remember her. She was young. Very young. She cocked her head. "Chris Redfield…she's like twenty-two."

"So?"

"You're old enough to be her daddy."

Chris laughed loudly now and shook his head. "First off, that's not even true. Secondly, it wasn't that kind of date, Jill. We weren't meeting for a drink. We were meeting at her place."

"Oh. So instead of getting ass, you're here about to get yours kicked. Is that it?"

"Sounds about right. You gonna give me some ass instead when this is over?"

"You tactless man, no. I'm kinda…involved or something."

They moved slowly into the dining room of the mansion. It was nearly identical. Jill shook her head in surprise. "Lord. This is nuts."

"No shit." Chris moved to the fireplace to look at it. "So what's kinda involved mean? You got a boyfriend?"

"Not exactly."

"I think that's good, honestly. You've been on a dry streak lately. My dick was getting raw from servicing you so much."

Jill laughed and slapped his ass as she walked by. "You wish, you dirty old man."

"I do actually. I kinda miss your tits. Can I see one?"

"You're so gross. No. Focus on the mission."

"Tease."

This is how it was with them now. It was jokes. It was light. It was this. It made him raw every fucking time they did it. He was her friend.

He was.

He was her friend.

And he was so in love with her it hurt.

But she'd made him promise to let her go.

She turned to make a joke. And there it was. It was four feet behind him. It was hunched like Quasimodo and twice as ugly. It had some kind of humungous weapon in its rotting hands. Its hump was stinky and bubbling.

"CHRIS!" She shot it. She just shot it. Her bullet passed two inches to the left of his face. She watched the teasing disappear. He dropped and everything was slow motion.

Her bullets smashed into the hump and the thing was roaring. Roaring like the nasty monster it was. Chris dropped low and threw out his leg. It worked, the nasty beast tripped and went backward.

Jill ran and leaped onto the table to get the angle to shoot it. Chris grabbed for its dropped weapon and let out a sound she'd never heard as tried to heft it. Clearly, the damn thing weighed a ton. His biceps bulged and his face was clenched from the effort of picking it up.

Jill didn't think he'd be able to swing it if he could even pick it up.

The thing on the floor was unfazed by the bullets. It didn't even care. It got to its feet and grabbed its weapon. Chris backed off, giving up. He hurried away and Jill followed him toward the far doors back into the foyer.

They burst through and she said, "How the fuck do we kill it?"

Chris shrugged. "Do we kill it? At this point…"

"Run."

"Run."

They hit the stairs and ran up them. At the top, the number of dead bodies lying around was horrifying. They raced through a set of steel doors and found the door locked. Locked.

Jill kicked it. Chris kicked it. They searched the dead bodies for a key.

"What the fuck?"

"This way."

They ran toward the far side of the balcony. It was broken and falling apart. And the thing on the stairs was coming.

Chris dropped and put his hands down, "Come on. I'll toss you over."

"What about you?"

"Get around to the other door and let me in, Jill. HURRY."

She nodded and ran at him. He launched her up and over. She rolled through and rose, pushing through the door on the balcony. She heard the fighting as she ran, heart racing. She heard him fighting for his life as she moved. Oh god. OH GOD.

"Chris! RUN AWAY!"

Jill pushed into a room on the other side of the balcony. It was an office and there was some kind of desk and scattered things lying around. She ran through it and skidded to a halt. Because there was a shotgun in the locked gun cabinet. She lifted her pistol and put a round through the glass. She punched through the rest and grabbed it, spilling a box of shells as she grabbed some to load it.

It was a Mossberg 500A. A pump action shotgun. She threw a bunch of rounds into her pack and ran through the other door. It spilled her to the other side of the balcony over the dining room. Which really wasn't any help to Chris at all.

Jill ran across the balcony and leaped over the railing. She landed on the table with a flourish and rolled off it. Her heart was racing as she burst into the foyer again. "CHRIS!"

"GET DOWN!"

She did. She got down. And the giant monster swung that evil four-pronged death machine over her head. She rolled over the ground and felt the air rush about her head. It smelled like the abundant stench of death.

Jill leaped back to her feet and jacked a round into the shotgun. She fired into it. It slowed down but it didn't seem to care otherwise.

"JILL!"

Chris was above her on the stairs with his hands out. She tossed the gun up to him. He caught it, jerked a shell into the shotgun and fired into the hump. That worked. Beautifully.

The thing fell to its knees. She raced at it, went into a front handspring, and shoved her feet into it. She propelled herself off it like she'd take flight. It went to one side and Chris fired into the hump again…and again. The creature went over onto its face and was still, smoking a little and stinking from the blown apart hump. It was leaking ooze onto the floor.

Jill shuddered. She said, "Sorry. You ok?"

Chris laughed a little and came down the stairs toward her. "I'm fine." He was bleeding down his face.

She made some tsk tsk sound and took his face to turn it. "Where'd it get you?"

"It threw me into the door. I'm alright."

"Christ…what the fuck is that thing?"

"Something Spencer made, clearly."

"Gross ass old man. Let's go." They moved back toward the stairs. The room smelled a little like rotting meat. At the top of the stairs again, they moved back to the locked door. Chris braced the shotgun and blew apart the front of the door. He reached through and unlocked it.

"HQ this is TickTock. Things are bad here. The entire team is dead. And painfully dead. Broken necks, blood everywhere. Something didn't just kill them, it tortured them."

"Roger. We knew this mission was going to be difficult. Proceed with extreme caution."

They moved into the next hallway. The Déjà vu was painful as they moved through hallways and into rooms where they'd been so long ago. And then they came upon the piano.

The worst part of the place was the sounds. They could hear the piano before they even got to the room. Someone was playing but…of course no one was playing.

The room was empty.

Chris said, "Ugh. We're not alone."

Jill replied, "Damn." And moved to play the music there on the piano.

It was Moonlight Sonata. What else? The same damn song from the Spencer Mansion was played in Spencer's Estate…naturally. As she played, the wall behind them opened and revealed a doorway. They waited, waited more, and finally went through the hallway toward the door.

The door opened to a garden of sorts. It was long and beautiful in a creepy way. It climbed up and around the estate and offered fountains and pretty sparkling water to the humbling night sky. It smelled a hundred times better outside than in, so that was at least a positive.

They moved up the walkway toward the next level. He figured it was time to play the best friend again. It was time. He hated it.

He wanted to throw her against the wall and pound into her while she bucked and screamed.

He fucking missed her.

Chris said, softly, "So tell me about the guy."

"Can't do it. It's not…it's not something I'm ready to talk about. It's just fun. And easy."

"Oh yeah? He's got his hooks in you. Do I know him?"

"It's not twenty questions, Christopher….but yes."

"Oh ho! Let me guess…"

"This should be really fascinating. Let's see what you think about my taste in men."

Chris paused, considering, "How many guesses do I get?"

"You'll never get it. So it doesn't matter." Jill chuckled and kept on walking up the path. It was in surprisingly good shape for the condition of the outside of the mansion. Spencer, if he was here, had had someone maintaining the grounds. She was on alert and so was Chris, always.

But he said, "Barry?"

Jill tripped on a rock and nearly fell over. He grabbed her arm and held her up. She laughed a little. "Number one: really? And number two: really?"

"What? You like older guys."

"Barry is married, you asshat."

"So?"

"Come on, I have integrity."

"True."

They reached the top of the path. It was a narrow walkway over boards now. Jill looked at it and considered, "I have a bad feeling about this."

But they crossed the boards, slowly. The boards held surprisingly well. The area on the other side was less stable. They had to pick their way across the ground slowly and carefully.

"Carlos?"

"I already went there."

Chris stopped and pictured it. He laughed and shook his head. "Why?"

"What? He's handsome. He saved my life. We clicked. He's good in bed."

"Don't be gross, Jill."

"What? He is. He's just too self-centered. So it didn't work out. Once the adrenaline passed, we just let it dissolve naturally."

"I say again: gross."

"You jealous?"

Yes.

Which pissed him off.

But he couldn't say that.

Not when he was pretending they were pals.

Chris considered this for a minute as they moved. She glanced at him. He had stopped walking. She tilted her head to look at him. "You jealous, big guy? You know you're the only guy for me. So don't be jealous."

"Pfft. You're too pretty to lie. I don't think I'm jealous. Maybe a little. But show me a boob and I'll forgive you."

Jill slapped his arm and laughed. "Perv."

"Male prerogative. How longs it been going on?"

She thought about that for a minute or two. They reached the next rise to the next level. She glanced up the and realized it was all ladder from here. A door was off to one side but it was locked tight.

"It's not a relationship, Chris. It's just…simple. And fun."

"Ah. So the plot thickens. And explains why we haven't instituted our former no strings sex arrangement." Which he hated as well. He kept hoping…what? She'd forgive him about Jessica. She'd come back to him, at least at first, just for the sex.

Nope.

His bones ached for her.

"You hard up, Red?"

Yes.

"Maybe. You offering?"

She tilted her head, trying to judge his mood.

He grinned a little, "Help a guy out, Valentine. Take a ride on the freight train."

And now she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Chris Redfield, you are such a romantic soul. You're wooing me as we speak."

"Sorry. I have no tact. But you usually don't give a shit."

"Yes. This is true. Your lack of tact is, often, refreshing."

"Awesome." Dangerous ground here. He wanted to get her interested in him again. He thought about the first time they'd met. He thought about throw down, go down. And he just…threw down, "So, what do you say? I'll kick the mail girl to the curb. You drop the stupid boyfriend, and you let me remind you what I can do with my tongue."

Jill paused. She held his look. He didn't blink. He wasn't often a man who pulled punches about stuff like that. He was offering. Did he think they could stop the flirting and just start fucking again?

Did he think it was that simple?

His face said maybe he did. He was so easy going about it. He didn't dwell. And he, also apparently, didn't regret letting her go.

That rankled. And hurt.

But she joked anyway. To keep things light. "What? Lick the hot sauce off chicken wings?"

He grinned a little and the tension broke. "That too. But I was actually talking about getting you wet, watching you come, and licking you clean."

Christ.

"And a little bit about hot wings...probably."

She shifted and stopped walking. He took three steps and realized she'd stopped. He turned back to look at her. His jaw was covered in three days worth of beard. She knew how it would feel between her legs. Scratchy.

She said, "You and that filthy mouth are nothing but trouble, Chris Redfield."

He grinned, eyes twinkling at her. "So they say. How about you sit on my face to shut me up?"

And now she laughed. She just laughed. And THIS is what she'd missed so badly. This. And him. "….you are about twelve years old, Red. Seriously. How can you and your huge dick possibly be lonely? Even your filthy mouth can't possibly turn off that many girls."

Chris shrugged. "Nobody makes me feel funny in my pants like you do, Valentine. Until then, I'm gonna stay single for all the ladies. So, they can take a ride on the freight train too."

"…I take it back. I see why. You're disgusting."

"You always say that. Say it again while you sit on my face and it won't hurt my feelings so much."

Jill laughed, rolling her eyes. Her belly trembled with the laughter. "No one believes me when I tell them you're a big pervert."

"Naturally. I'm a gentleman."

"You're a dirty minded old man."

"Only for you, my darlin. Only you."

"I'm so lucky," Her sarcasm was so thick you could walk on it. Chris winked at her. She slapped his ass and moved forward.

It was the first time she'd touched him like that in a long time. He craved her.

He said, "Leon Kennedy."

Jill froze and turned back to face him. "What?"

"Is it Leon Kennedy? He your guy?"

Jill said, "Redfield, you're my guy. No question."

"Indubitably. But is he the guy you're boffing?"

"What a stupid word, boffing. What idiot thought that up?"

"A guy, obviously. Spill the beans, you fucking Leon Kennedy?"

She looked up at him. He turned a little toward her. His damn arm was nearly as big around as her waist now. She felt something shift in her belly and said, quietly, "I'm not boffing, Leon Kennedy." She wanted to lie about it. She did. But she didn't lie to him. Not usually.

Only to herself.

Cheese and rice. He watched her face and threw down one more time. Not guts, no glory. "Ok then. So how about it?"

She queried it, "How about what?"

He leaned down toward her a little. Her breath held…and so did his. "You wanna fuck me, Jill Valentine? I'll leave you bowlegged and smiling."

Holy hell. It was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Horrid.

And she hated that she kinda wanted to say yes.

She'd wanted to say yes that first day she'd met him in the RPD station. It shivered in her like poison. Damn him. She wanted to hate him.

Damn him. She wanted to jerk the feelings out of this moment and do it. She wanted to be the old Jill Valentine and throw off her pants and take it while she screamed.

And she didn't think they could ever...ever...go back to that.

But part of her wanted to.

She should say no. She should laugh it off. He was probably teasing.

She whispered, instead, "Freight train?"

His hand lifted. It gripped her forearm. His heart hammered.

He wanted to see himself in her eyes again. Just for a second. A minute. A moment.

Maybe he got her there with sex. Why not? It'd worked the first time.

He tugged her, just a little, against him. She curled her hand around his vest. And he murmured, "You kidding? I'd rip you in half."

And that part of the old Jill Valentine was still in there. The part that liked his dirty mouth. The part that knew he didn't lie, didn't boast, and didn't stop.

Fucking him would change nothing. They'd go down in flames doing it.

But it would feel good while they burned.

Her answer nearly killed him. "….prove it."

The second she said it, she wanted it back. This was wrong. It was wrong. He pushed her away. He pushed her aside. He did NOT get to toss that huge dick in her and earn his way back. Not like that. No.

No. NO. She didn't want that. She was losing it here. She was slipping back into old habits. She was letting the last year fall apart. She always did this. She always fell back into his arms like it was nothing.

Damnit. She knew better.

Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.

He dropped his mouth to kiss her. She pushed him back. The tension was thick and painful.

She had to cut it. She had to stop it before they had an emotional throw down in the middle of a mission. STUPID. Her mind said: GIRRRRLLL THIS is why he keeps jerking you around. You keep jumping on his dick when he bats his stupid eyes at you. He broke you. You gonna let him right back in to do it again?

Jill fisted his vest in her hands and shoved. She shoved him back.

Chris blinked at her.

She said, quietly, "No time for that now, you dirty pervert. Save the freight train for the mail girl. We've got a job to do here. I didn't see freight train fucking in the mission protocol."

But her voice was breathy. She looked afraid. She was trying so hard to keep things casual. He saw it all over her.

It was the moment he knew she hadn't forgiven him. Still. She hadn't forgiven him. He wondered if she ever would. How did you apologize for failing someone? How did you apologize for letting them down when they needed you the most?

How did he apologize for that?

He took a little step toward her. There must have been something on his face. She looked almost desperate now. "….don't."

He didn't even know what that meant. Don't what? Don't touch her? Don't love her? He could do one but how did he stop the other?

So, she stopped it for them. She said, quietly, "Please."

And it killed him. He hated himself. He'd broken her heart. He'd betrayed her. It was all over her. It was all over him. And instead of walking away, he just…kept trying to put her back together with tape and glue and jokes. It was so fragile. It was so weak. If he pushed now, she'd fall apart. And he'd be the guy who broke Jill Valentine. And it would change nothing. It wouldn't change a damn thing.

Because it would never make it ok. What he'd done to her, what she'd risked for him….it would never be ok. She'd chosen him over the world. That would never be ok. Ever. The world had to have lines. It had to have black and white. It had to have good and evil. She didn't see that. Couldn't see it. All she could see…was him. But it was a broken mirror of him. She didn't see the real Chris Redfield. Just the one she wanted him to be.

And he couldn't be her world. He couldn't. Not when the world needed them to protect it. To save it. So, he'd taken that fear and hurt her back. Wrong. WRONG. Stupid. He should have talked to her. But he couldn't. So, he fled. And he'd cut her off at the knees.

He'd ripped out her heart and threw it into the fires of Terragrigia. And the faces of the dead had chased him into the dark.

And he hated himself. And he hated her for never being sorry about what she'd done. Not once. No regret. How could she love him and not see the man he was? How could she claim to love him and not understand him at all? All his life, he'd put the world before him. For Claire, who'd needed him. For Jill, who'd needed him. For his men and his team and his soul. That's how he slept at night. It's how he made his peace. He sacrificed himself to do the right thing.

And she'd thrown it all into the fire to save him. No thinking. No regrets. She'd betrayed him. Didn't she see that? Didn't she see that that made it no better than Wesker? The intent, it was for shit, it was romantic and loyal…and wrong. Because you couldn't be a good guy and go to the dark side when it suited you. You couldn't.

That she didn't know that. That she didn't know him. It was just another way they were broken. And maybe he'd done that...maybe he'd broken them. But he hadn't done it alone. Not entirely. You couldn't kill innocent people just because it might save someone else. You couldn't do that and pretend it was ok. She'd done that.

And he couldn't forgive her for it.

And he hated himself for walking away…when all he should have done was open his fucking mouth and talk to her. And listen. Listen. To the girl who'd been so afraid to take a chance on him. And tried to literally sacrifice the world to love him.

He couldn't understand it. But he could feel it. That horrible, wonderful, humbling love. He would never, ever, ever, get over her. And it was going to kill him.

How did you say I'm sorry when there was no way to take it back? How did he fix it? How did he fix them?

It started by backing off. It started by giving her that.

He said, "Jill…I'd do anything to take it back. Anything. How do we fix it? How do I take it back? Tell me, please, and I'll do it. I'll do anything."

She believed him. She did. She knew he was good. He was so good. He was so good in his bones. He'd never hurt her without killing himself too. Chris was a hero. The hero threw himself on the sword and died to protect you. He couldn't, ever, understand how she could stand in the dark and choose him over the faceless and the innocent. He couldn't. And it's why they were twin souls - reflecting each other like shattered mirrors. No longer the people they'd been. The battle lost. The victory hollow. The price too high. He'd panicked. He'd run. And lost her respect.

And she'd sold her soul to save him. And lost his in return.

There was no way to fix that.

Not anymore.

And her answer killed him. It killed him where he stood, "I don't know. But you can't fuck me and make me forget, Chris. It doesn't work that way."

They held eyes in the cool air. And his voice carried on the breeze, "I hate myself for losing you."

It healed something in her to hear it. But it didn't change anything.

And that hurt more than anything else she'd ever felt.

Because she couldn't forgive him. And he couldn't forgive her. And it was the first time she realized she was going to be ok without him after all. It turned out, there was still Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield. He'd done that. He'd cut the tie. And given her back herself.

In a way, she owed him a thank you.

She was free.

And it hurt so bad she was kinda afraid it would kill her to feel it.

She held his tortured look and her mouth said, on its own, "…I wish to god I cared more. I do. But I just don't. I'm sorry. I am…but I don't love you like that anymore."

Liar. She lied. She lied to put it to bed. She lied to end it. And to finally, finally, set him free too. If he kept chasing her, if he kept apologizing, if he kept grabbing her and loving her and tempting her, she'd forgive him. She'd take him back. And she'd always be afraid he'd leave her in the rain again.

Unwanted. Rejected. Forsaken. Don't let go, she'd said, and he'd let go. He'd let go. And there was no coming back from that. Not anymore.

And he'd always wonder who she'd sacrifice next to protect him.

The collateral damage was done.

He let go of her and stepped back. She felt the distance expand between them and steal her breath. And watched the pain blanch across him and kill.

But it slid into the smile that spilled over his face. Such a liar. Such a fake. They both were. They both were so lost. Maybe they found each other with the lies. Maybe it was faking it until you made it. He put a hand to his chest like she'd stabbed him in the heart and tried to play it off. She kinda loved him for it.

They were both trying so hard. She'd survive losing the lover. Would she ever survive losing the friend? They needed to fix it. They needed to be friends. She needed that. And so did he.

He opened his mouth to crack a joke. He did that to save them both from the pain of that. He tried so hard to make it ok.

And they just...moved. They moved on. It was all they knew how to do.

They were back in the garden now. They could hear the water. They could feel the wind….and they could see the bodies. Broken necks and ripped open chests and one on its side with a gun still in its hand. Jill knelt to get it and checked the chamber, fully loaded.

She glanced up at Chris. A bead of sweat slid down his nose. "He never fired a shot."

"I know."

"Fuck."

"I'd rather being doing that then this, no lie."

Jill nodded, quietly.

They moved down the narrow walkway. More bodies were twisted together like pretzels and tossed like trash around the area. Blood was smeared on the stone and throats were opened like a hand had torn them apart.

"God."

Chris answered, softly, "This wasn't God. But it might have been the devil."

They reached a double set of doors at the end of the hallway. Jill looked at him in the flashing lightning, "You know any of those guys back there?"

His jaw was clenched, flexing. "Yeah, I did."

"I'm sorry."

He met her eyes, "You're still here. That's all that matters. Let's do this thing."

God. How did she cut him out of her? When he talked like that, how did she let him go?

It was a mess.

They opened the door to the room beyond and stepped through into the past. They didn't know that the past would leave them to a future that neither of them would begin to understand. They couldn't know it would lead them to…

"WESKER!"

The room was wide open. The body on the floor was still staring. The man above the body was illuminated by lightning and flickering death. The body had died painfully. It was old, wrinkly, and lying beside a fallen wheelchair.

Lightning flashed and the rumble of thunder was loud and ominous. Wesker turned to them and smiled. He watched them, curious. "Interesting. Who is talking out of turn? Someone is a rat. I'm going to find them and silence them."

"Doubtful," Chris trained the gun on him, "Hard to silence anyone when I've shoved your hands up your ass."

"Ah Chris, such bravado. But I know a secret you don't know."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"You can't kill me anymore." And then he moved. Although moved was the wrong word. He simply…teleported. Or shifted through space and time. Or went boogity boo and was there in front of them.

He split the air between them and Jill rolled away while Chris fired and hit nothing. Again and nothing. He spun back and missed the fist Wesker threw at his face by inches. The next punch got him clean in the gut and slapped the pistol from his hands. Jill raced at him and he shoved Chris away to intercept her.

He slapped her face, almost playfully, and she took it. She spun back from it and put her little dagger into his arm. He glanced at it in surprise, met her face, and she didn't like the look on his face. It was almost impressed with her. He backhanded her so hard she felt the world shift out of alignment.

Jill went down onto the floor and Wesker kicked her in the stomach, rolling her over. Christ drove a kick into the back of his knee and spilled him forward. But Wesker spun a back kick and followed it with a jab that sent him reeling.

He laughed, circling away from them while Jill scrambled to her feet.

"Not bad. Apparently, I can still be hit. It's good to discover where my weakness lies." He drew the knife from his arm and tossed it to the floor toward Jill. She looked at it and considered.

"By all means…take it. I trained you both. I can't wait to see how this unfolds. I'm considering taking Chris with me when I go. But maybe I'll take you instead."

Chris aimed at him again, "Your ass, Wesker. Touch her, I'll rip you apart one piece at a time."

"Do you think all those muscles will stop me, Chris? You're a bigger fool than I thought. Show me your strength. Come at me!"

They moved. They moved fast and furious. Wesker was there, and gone, and there again. They changed positions and followed the protocols. And it wasn't enough.

Would never be enough. He wasn't human. Not anymore. He was anything but human.

Chris swung, missed, kicked and missed, was slapped like a bitch and kicked across the room. Two hundred plus pounds of muscle and he kicked him away like he weighed nothing. Jill raced at him, brandishing her knife.

She missed the first punch and caught the edge of his hand with the knife. He looked amused. And she used everything he'd taught her against him.

She pivoted, dropped, rolled and took his legs. He went down, rolled up and over, and flipped to his feet. His face...it was ecstatic. He beckoned with one curled palm. Taunting.

She raced at him and dropped down into a crouch as he spun at her. Her leg spilled out at the hip, his split the air over her head, and she drove a solid punch into his groin. He grunted in pain and slapped her face. Wesker drove his foot into her stomach, back handed her hard enough to knock her teeth together, and threw her away like trash. She rolled along the floor.

Chris took advantage of her ass kicking to actually land a nice couple of hits…for all the good it did. The power of it echoed. He punched like he'd take his old Captain's head with it.

Wesker ducked, rolled, and put his boot in Chris' groin. Jill felt it for him, it had to have felt like being kicked in the dick by a bucking thousand pound donkey. Good lord. This was going to end very, very badly.

She sprang into a front tuck and spun out a kick. It was enough to get Wesker to smack Chris twice in the face and kick him away again. He turned on Jill and grabbed her face. She drove her knife into his throat, hilt deep. He didn't even really bleed. It was a trickle. And it was terrifying.

She ripped the blade over his throat like opening a zipper. He grunted and lifted her off the floor by her face. She jerked the blade from his throat with a muffled cry of rage.

She kicked at his knees and he laughed, grabbed the front of her shirt and launched her up in the air. Like a playful father launching a kid. Only this one sent her straight up toward the ceiling.

The momentum was too odd to do more than probably face plant on the ground when she came straight back down. She didn't face plant…Chris caught her. He dropped to one knee and caught her as she fell.

Jill rolled out of his arms and they both rose. They had guns in their hands. Why? It seemed bullets were useless. They moved to flank their old captain.

Wesker glanced between them and grinned. "This feels familiar. It seems we've played this game before. Shall we see if it ends differently this time? Last time it ended with me dead. Isn't that right Chris?"

Chris smiled, wolfishly. "Not my fault that your good friend the tyrant wanted to kill you."

"Yes. I did die. And thank you for that. When they extracted me, I was reborn again and the tyrant had given me the first of many gifts. Naturally, I discovered the truth of myself and wanted to see what else I could become…Spencer was a fool. He wanted to create a legacy…he wanted to be a god. But he was nothing more than a frail old man. A meat sack. An untenable megalomaniac with a mortal coil around his neck. I freed him from his ridiculous aspirations. He wasn't meant to be a god but he had created one. I've been following the lines of that strength since we last saw each other."

He shifted where he stood, eyeing them.

Chris aimed down his arm at him and Wesker stopped moving, he cocked his head and blinked at him. "Think you can hit me? I know where your bullets will be before you do. I see all possibilities. I no longer have fears or needs or failures. But you do, Chris Redfield. You do. And I can see where your weakness is. Does she know, I wonder? Does the girl at your side know that she's your weakness? What would you do if I took her from you? What would you rise and become? Would you ascend? Or would you fall into darkness and turn into that which you fight against? I find I want to leave you alive…and discover what you will be. Perhaps your altruistic facade would crack. Perhaps...you'd sell me your soul to get her back."

"You'll never find out, you fucking bastard."

"I chose you, naturally, all of you for S.T.A.R.S. I needed the perfect subjects. Jill came highly recommended. She was so very talented, so very broken, looking to prove herself to the world that didn't understand her. I chose her for those skills and because I knew. I knew what a man would want. I looked at her and knew you would want her. Naturally. She's a mortal man's wet dream isn't she? Capable, gorgeous, and so very unique. The perfect treat for a boy who'd been the best at everything all his life."

Wesker caught Jill as she rushed him and spun her around, putting her in a head lock. "Look at him. See what you've been blind to all this time. Ask yourself what he fights for. Is it justice? Is it freedom for those who require it? Is it truth? Or is it YOU?"

Chris shifted the pistol, trying to find a shot.

"See? He can't shoot. He can't. Because you are in the way. Do you tell yourself it's friendship that pushes him? The need to save the world that drives him? It's you. And what will he become without you? Did you tell him, I wonder, about our last clandestine meeting?"

He cocked his head, watching Chris. "No? She came to me. She offered herself in exchange for your freedom."

Jill jerked in his arms. "Shut up! You bastard!"

Wesker laughed and chilled her blood. "Afraid of what he'll see, Jill, when the truth is revealed? She offered to be my willing worker bee, my soldier, my right hand….if I left you alive. She offered herself, in exchange for you. For whatever I desired. Whatever I needed. She would slay the world for you. She would sacrifice it. In exchange for your freedom. So it seems you are her weakness, as she is yours."

Chris' face. She'd never forget it. She'd never forget it. Ever. As long as she lived, she'd remember the horror of it.

"Jill…"

She shook a little, fighting the hold. "It wasn't like that…not exactly like that…I wouldn't have done anything he asked. I swear to god…"

Wesker laughed again, snuggling her a little. "Wouldn't you? You traded your soul for his. And lost him forever. Because you see, you'll never understand him. He will always, always, pick others over himself. I tried to teach you. I tried to show you. He fights for the justice. He fights for those who can't fight for themselves. He would never choose his own needs over another's. And you put him above all others. Noble. Loving. And stupid. Because it saved his life, and lost you him. Look at him, Jill! Look at him…even now…even now he would protect you over himself. Even now, when he stands there and knows you're flawed, broken, and that your soul is for sale. The ultimate betrayal to the hero, Jill. You sold your soul…and a man like Chris Redfield will never be able to forgive that."

Wesker pushed her back toward him. And Chris did exactly what he'd knew he'd do…he grabbed her…and put her behind him.

Wesker laughed, delighted, "Do you see?! Even now, he shields you. Ever so slightly. Equals? Never. You are his reason. You are his weakness. Jill Valentine…the girl no one loved, who loved a boy too much," He stalked them and they watched him, "And you Chris…YOU…you were meant to be my pride and joy. You with your scores and your skills and your drive. You fought like nothing I'd ever seen before. Your sheer human will was indomitable. And then I had to test you, I had to know…so I put her next to you that day in Raccoon City…and I watched you offer me your weakness…I watched the two of you devour and destroy each other. One force – so good, so true, so pure…and the other – so desperate to prove itself, so raw, so strong but fractured…she clung to you. She molded to you. And you broke her for it. And I finally understood it was never you...it was her...all along. The power behind you, she eclipsed your sun and weakened you. But no...no...I was wrong. She wasn't covering your power. I was wrong. YOU were eclipsing HER. You were never the sun...she was."

Wesker shifted, eyeing them again, "And I think now? Now, she's ready. Now, she's ready to become more. I needed you to break her…to make her mine."

Jill shifted, she turned her head. The horror filled her up and left her breathless. Was that it? Was it always her? She'd tried to protect Chris, from everything, from the world. Had she played right into the hands of the devil all along? Had she led him to his death...trying to save his life?

Was she the girl who would love Chris Redfield...to death?

Chris didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on Wesker. "You will never touch her again, you son of a bitch. You will never have her. You think I need her in my bed for her to be mine? She's MINE, you bastard. MINE. And I'll put you six feet under in pieces if you even think about her again. Maybe we're fractured, maybe we're broken…maybe we're both stupid and lost and hurting each other. Maybe we are. But the only thing you did that day you put her next to me? You didn't offer me a weakness, you offered me a shield. And her. Because part of what you just said? Part of that is true, we will only protect each other. It's all we know how to do. Maybe I don't get to love her anymore…maybe that's lost to me…but she's mine. And you can't have her."

Wesker laughed. He threw his head back and laughed. "Such an impassioned speech. Such a romantic purpose. Words. Useless. And surreal."

Jill whispered, "Chris…" And it was a breath of sound filled with so many things.

He shook his head, not looking at her, "Don't. Not now. Don't let him distract you. Not now."

Wesker laughed and creeped them both out. Jill turned her eyes back to him. "See, Jill? Even now, he deflects. Even now, he declines. And you finally see the fallacy of the human condition."

Jill rushed Wesker again and he caught her arm and spun her away. He kicked her in the stomach, rolled her over, and slapped her face on the floor. She stuck her knife in his back and got that look of surprise from him again. Chris chose that moment to shoot him and the bullet hit, causing his body to jerk.

Wesker jerked her up and threw her at Chris hard enough that they hit each other, grunted, and went onto the floor to slide across it. He laughed, pulling the knife free. This time, he tossed it over toward the window and away.

Ah, Jill thought as she rose, he was tired of getting stabbed at least. So, he wasn't completely immune to pain.

"So now I know how to destroy you. And I don't have to kill you do it." Wesker grinned, "Humans are so very predictable. Love will kill you every time. But still, you race toward it. Fools. Jill? I'm afraid I have to unkiss our bargain. He won't have it any other way it seems. But then again…you did make a bargain with the devil, didn't you? And who can ever really trust the devil?"

Lightning flashed, throwing the room into sharp relief. He lifted his arms, dramatic, and terrifying with it, "Come then, Chris, show me what love does to a man. I will enjoy watching you suffer. And when you're gone? She'll finally become the weapon she was always meant to be."

Jill tried to stop it. She tried. She shouted, "Chris, don't! It's what he wants! It's what he's wanted all along! Don't!"

But Chris rushed him, throwing the gun away. He made some kind of battle cry that had the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. This was how he'd find her forgiveness, she thought madly, he'd die to earn it back. He'd die to prove himself to her. And she'd never survive it if he did.

They came together in the center of the room in a spill of blood and slapping skin. The hero and the Devil. They clashed like the serpent and the lion, locked together forever in mortal combat.

And they battled for her soul.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Author's note:
> 
> We know what happens next. It's gonna be ugly. It's awful. The pain is bad. Again, I stole the bones from my other tale with them. But the rest will play out differently.
> 
> We'll start to explore Jill and Wesker soon. And Chris without Jill. And what happens in the years between. Chris will rise from ashes, a phoenix. And Jill? An immortal warrior at the hand of the devil.
> 
> Keep the feedback rolling here. It's making me see a different path than I originally intended. I like it. This chapter though? This is ALL pain.
> 
> Ouchies.
> 
> Slainte.

XXIII: The Stairway to the Sun

:::::::::::::Twenty-Three:::::::::

They were the chimera. The serpent, the lion, and she the goat that lay between them. The symbol of sensuality, the vitality, trapped between the timeless battle of good and evil. Opposing forces, battling for control of her world. Of her SOUL.

Chris tried. Her lion. Her protector. Noble and proud and roaring his commitment to her like a beautiful, feral, wonderful beast. He tried so hard. Jill joined the fray to help but they swung at nothing, hit nothing, and kept getting knocked down.

How did you fight the serpent? The serpent was wily. The serpent was wise. The serpent was clever and conniving and quick. It wound and bound and swirled around you while you swung and struggled...and died in its crushing embrace.

They got lucky once. She rolled and kicked Wesker at just the right moment. It landed, and she felt it vibrate down her leg. Chris decked him, a straight arm jab right to the chest. He followed it with a hooking left and a boot to the knee. But it was for nothing. Wesker took it, rebounded like he'd never been hit, and jerked on his arm. Chris went forward like he weighed nothing and Wesker punched him so hard that she heard his nose break. Blood burst like a water balloon across his face.

Jill fired at him from the ground where she lay. The bullet missed but he dropped Chris in the process and kicked him away. She ran toward Chris and knew she wasn't going to get there.

The world spun and fell away. Wesker was just there, waiting. He kicked Jill like she was nothing. She went up and over, hitting the bookshelf. It felt like being hit by a jackhammer. She was frozen, trying to get up. She was frozen.

Chris tried to hit him. His form was technically perfect. It was supreme. He moved like she'd watched him move a thousand times before. He should have destroyed the other man. But he never landed a single blow. Wesker went against all those huge muscles and made a mockery of it. He taunted, laughing, slapping and punching. He wore them down, wore them out. And he didn't even sweat.

She watched him throw Chris like garbage. All two hundred pounds of him, sheer strength and muscle and mass. He dragged him across the table like the worlds worst slip and slide and toward the window. Chris hit the ground two feet from the glass behind him and tried to get to his feet.

Wesker stalked toward him, laughing. "Get UP, Redfield! Get up! SHOW ME WHAT LOVE DOES! Where is your power now?"

From the ground, from the crouch, Chris swung at him. It was a brilliant uppercut. It was backed by a sound of fury like nothing she'd ever heard before. The laid-back, loving, laughing Chris Redfield was nowhere in this room What remained, was the lion. Stalking, pacing, racing toward the battle with a dedication and rage that threw the world into chaos around it. In a storybook, this was the moment good would rise - the underdog, the hopeless, and save the day.

But there was no storybook here. And there was no more hope.

Wesker knocked his driving arm away and kicked him in the chest. Chris went over, gasping, bowing against the pain of it. Jill heard the snap of it, the crack of it, and KNEW - Wesker had broken something in his body. Ribs, bones, sternum...Jesus Christ. He was going to take them apart a piece at a time.

He was going to beat Chris Redfield to death while he laughed.

Wesker picked him up, one handed, hand around his throat. He dangled him like he weighed nothing, using all that muscle to choke him. Wesker smiled, sneeringly. He drew back his hand. And she knew what had ripped open the men in the estate. She knew who'd done it. She knew…she KNEW he was about to rip out Chris' heart.

Chris' heart.

Wesker said, "No more bravado? No more courage? A coward at the core, it seems. A fool. Redfield…let's finish this. Perhaps this is how I win her to my side. You broke her heart…so I'll give her yours." Chris was strangling on his own weight. But, by God, he tried to fight back. He strangled to death and never stopped fighting. The rage on his face was a terribly beautiful thing. He didn't know how to give up. He just kept fighting.

Wesker jerked and ripped the vest down his chest like it was nothing. Like it wasn't steel plating and kevlar and strength. And he drove that hand toward the fragile, wonderful, so very delicate chest beneath it. All the muscle, all the bravery, all the will in the universe wouldn't stop that hand. It would dive through flesh and bone, it would crack and rip and rend, and it would rip his heart from his body like it was nothing.

She would die. She would die the moment it cleaved from his shattered chest and left him broken and dangling and dead. She would die.

She would die without him. She would curl into a ball and die on the floor and bleed into nothing. They'd have to scrape her off the floor and bury her with him. She whispered it, "No." And then she yelled it, "NO!"

And she was no longer frozen. She was BURNING.

She didn't think. She couldn't think. She just ran.

She ran.

One Sunday, he'd shown her how to tackle. He'd laughed when she hit him around the waist and he didn't move. He'd lifted her and shook her playfully before tossing her away.

He hadn't been laughing the next time. She'd hit him full tackle and taken him backward to the ground. She'd landed on top of him with a bounce. He'd lost his breath…and started laughing. They'd rolled in the mud and had the best day ever.

He'd taught her how to tackle. So, she knew how to do it right.

And she was SCREAMING. "NO!"

She hit Wesker broadside. His hand was an inch from Chris. She hit him so hard she felt her shoulder dislocate. Her whole right side went numb. She tackled him Chris Redfield style. Head down, balls out, no bullshit.

He dropped Chris in surprise. He hadn't seen it coming. Immortal or not. He was still a man. Still a man...who underestimated a woman. Who underestimated the power of that love he kept taunting Chris with. Still a man...who'd never begin to understand what was worth dying for.

She hit him so hard it drove a grunt from him. He didn't even have a chance to poof and boogity-boo and escape. He might have been the fastest thing she'd ever seen. But he was still flawed. And it was going to be the end of him.

And she kept on shoving, screaming. That's what you did for your guy. You kept on shoving…even when he told you no. His weakness, Wesker had said, his weakness. She couldn't be his weakness. He'd always, always, always been her strength.

Mine. He'd said. SHE'S MINE.

He was flawed and broken. He was a mess.

And he was HERS.

This was how you loved Chris Redfield. Head down, balls out, no bullshit.

"JILL! NO!" He roared it, so very loudly, he roared the command. Her lion. She'd never been much on following commands though.

The world froze, a perilous thing, it hovered on the talons of something awful as they were airborne. Chris cried out for her to stop. Too late…too fucking late.

Chris yelled her name and grabbed for her. He staggered. He fell and slid and roared. But the window burst apart. The glass was loud and painful. It cut her apart as she went through it, holding on. It spilled her blood like a tornado around them.

Maybe she couldn't give him everything he deserved.

But she could give him this.

She felt his hands grab for her. She felt them miss her by inches. She saw his face as she went over. The horror, the pain, the terrible, awful…wonderful love. His shout echoed through the empty room.

She went down, down, down listening to him scream for her. She was ok with it. She was. This was worth every moment of what came next. Wesker laughed as they fell. He laughed.

Psycho.

He put his mouth to her ear and breathed, "…now. Mine."

They hit the ground so hard, so quick, so painful. She felt her neck snap, felt her chest collapse. She felt the pain flush away on the peace of it. She fell on top of Albert Wesker and was broken, her leg twisted beneath them. A broken doll.

The blood spilled into her eyes. She couldn't move. She'd broken her neck and maybe her back. She could hear Chris, screaming for her. Couldn't she?

I'm here, she thought numbly. I'm here. I didn't see, I didn't understand…I didn't know. This is how I set it right, Chris, it's how I show you I can sacrifice myself for the world too. It's right. It's so right.

It has to be me. It has to be me. It can't be you. Not yet. The world needs the lion. The world needs you. The world needs Chris Redfield.

It was the last thought she had before she died.

He was running. When did he start running? He was running down the stairs. He burst out into the rain, still running. The rain was brutal, whipping and screaming down from the mountains around them. Someone was sobbing. He could hear them close by sobbing. It had to be Jill. She had to be close by. No, his mind said, it's you. Not Jill. It's you.

Someone was shouting her name, over and over and over. He realized it was him. He spun, spun, looking through the storm for any sign of her. His mind said, You know she's dead.

He said, "No."

The river was there, rushing fast and hard. It kicked and raged, tossing waves and fury at the sky above it. He went into it, waist deep. He fought the tide like a man possessed. The lightning crackled and slashed the sky and the thunder was so loud it was deafening.

He could see her hat.

Chris roared some sound of denial. He grabbed it in his hand. He spun in the water while the undertow tried to take him down. He spun again.

The river raced toward the edge of the canyon. It offered nothing but fury and death. It dropped hundreds and hundreds of feet into nothing below it. She'd have been swept downstream, holding on to Albert Wesker.

He shook his head, shook it again. He hit the button his head set, called her name, tried to raise her again. Hit again, shouting. He jerked the communicator off his ear and threw it away. He yelled her name.

"Jill! JILL!"

He fought the water, chest high now. He went down against it, going under. It caught him and pushed him back. He drove his feet down and pushed, pushed, bursting free of the waves of it with a cry of fury as his feet settled in the sedimentary rock. He made it to the drop-off, to the raging waterfall. And it was too dark to see. He moved to leap down after her.

And there were hands there. Hands on him. Hands pulling him back.

Mira. Barry.

They were yelling and dragging at him. Mira was screaming in the blinding storm. She kept shouting at him about tornados and high winds.

He shoved her away and kept going. Barry caught his arm and he swung a punch at him. He swung a punch at his oldest friend. Barry caught his fist and held it, bruising strong. He shook his head, silent. Silent.

Silent.

Chris jerked away and stumbled. He went down in the water. He broke free shouting. Didn't they understand?! She was DOWN THERE! He was going after her! "Get off of me or help! Do you understand me!? GET OFF OF ME! JILL! JILL! HOLD ON!"

He literally threw Mira away into the water. Barry caught her and put her safe behind him. She was looking at Chris like he'd grown a second, sad, terribly pathetic head. He pointed at her, "No." It was pity on her face and grief.

Why was she grieving?! Jill WASN'T DEAD.

Barry punched him. He turned back and Barry punched him clean in the face. It lifted him off his feet and threw him back in the water. Chris swallowed water and it went up his nose.

He came up roaring with rage. Mira leapt on his back like a monkey. He tried to throw her off. She held on and put the plunger in his neck.

No.

He yelled it, "NO!"

But the sedative did its job. He stumbled, tumbled. Barry caught him. Chris listed to one side, heaving out useless breaths.

And his hearing came back with a pop. He heard Barry say, "It's ok. It's ok, Chris. She's gone. It's ok now."

Chris staggered, and Barry held on to him. He made some sound of grief, of loss, he said, "Don't you understand?! It will NEVER be ok…never again. Find Jill…FIND HER! She's not dead, you fucking idiot! You bastard…JILL!"

And the sedative took him down. Like an elephant tranquilizer. He was black and gone.

And when he came back to himself…she wasn't there.

Because they'd never found her.

Because she was gone.

He stared at his face in the mirror. Jill was gone. He said it, out loud, "Jill is dead. Jill Valentine is dead. You let her die. She's dead because you loved her. You killed her…you idiot. You killed Jill Valentine. Jill is dead."

The man in the mirror was pale faced beneath the constant tan. Those blue eyes reflected his mother back at him. His mother who was trying to hold him inside of his head and comfort him. No. No comfort, his mind said, you killed your best friend. Stupid, fucking useless man.

He put his fist through the mirror. He tore his room apart. He upended his bed, ripped apart his desk. He put his foot through the television. He threw anything his hands came across. He raged until he was empty. And he collapsed to the floor to die inside. He struck the floor with his fists as the first gasps of pain came out of his mouth. And he put his face in his hands to hide.

He started on the bottle, drinking, drinking, drinking until he was numb and empty. But the pain ate through the whiskey and left him barren and broken and alone. No Jill to make jokes, no Jill to tease him. No Jill to encourage him to tag some waitress in the bathroom and get his rocks off. No Jill to take home and throw down on the floor and roll naked together laughing.

No Jill.

He didn't know how to exist in a world where there was no Jill Valentine.

He picked a fight with the first redneck asshole to get in his face. He found out the redneck had friends. It was like being saved. He rose from his chair and threw every ugly insult he could find at them.

He ended up fighting three of them in the alley behind the dirty bar where he'd been trying to kill himself. No Jill to stop him. He picked a fight and got what he was asking. Shit faced drunk and he was almost on par with the three of them. He let them land a few good hits, but the rage ate at his soul and swallowed the reason. He stood heaving in the circle of their groaning bodies.

Three of them and he was still there. What would it take? They didn't have enough to kill him. He staggered back to his room with two bottles of whiskey.

He came to himself on the floor of the bathroom surrounded by the blood from his hands, surrounded by broken shards of mirror and upended bottles of whiskey. He'd beaten his fists raw. On what?

He didn't remember the fighting. He didn't remember anything. He looked for Jill. He staggered into the bedroom and expected to see her sleeping in his bed, wrapped in sheets and snoring.

And she wasn't there.

Because she was gone.

Sober, hung over, and he hurt. It wasn't just his head, it was his heart, his guts, his balls, his soul. He went to the floor and leaned against the wall with his face in his hands. He was afraid he'd never be able to get up off that floor again.

The world rolled. It was empty in the dark.

It was cold.

The rain was staggering.

A blanket of ice on his corpse. His corpse? He was not dead. You couldn't kill a god.

He opened an eye and realized they were sealed together. She'd done it. She'd taken him out that window. She'd protected Redfield with her life.

It was done.

His body protested. It screamed in rage. He rose anyway, never a slave to the mortal form. He lifted her broken corpse in his arms. Fragile and small. So human. Her limbs flopped bonelessly. Broken. Twisted.

She was bleeding from her eyes, her ears, her nose. Her neck was purple and twisted.

Dead.

Lost.

But not for long.

He carried her body away in the pouring rain.

He'd kept his end of the bargain. He'd left Redfield alive.

And now it was time for her to keep hers.

Claire Redfield rushed across the sterile floor. Her heart was hammering. Her soul was shivering. Barry had called her. Distraught, distressed, "It's so bad, Claire. It's so bad. I did what I could. I don't know what to do."

"What is it? What?"

"You have to come. Now. Hurry."

And she had.

She shoved open the white door and heard the machines beeping.

But he wasn't there in the bed.

He was at the window, staring out into the rain. He wore the stupid hospital gowns they made you wear. It gaped in the back and showed the muscles, the Lakota gold skin Claire had always envied, and the wounds.

He was all fucked up.

He was torn up and bandaged and broken.

She said, "Chris…what have you done?"

And he turned his head over his shoulder. His face…his face was a mess. Swollen, bloody, bruised and battered. "Not enough. How many times do you have to pick a fight before someone, finally, does the fucking job right?"

Oh god.

Claire shifted toward him. "What the fuck happened? Barry wouldn't tell me anything. What happened?"

He figured now was as good a time as any to just throw it out there.

Why not?

What did it matter anymore?

He said, and it echoed like a ringing bell around them, "Jill is dead."

Somewhere in the distance, thunder grumbled angrily.

It sounded odd coming out of his mouth. Jill is dead, he said. And it was said with that edge of emptiness that both hurt the soul and insulated the brain against the truth. It didn't slash or stab, it simply lobbed a grenade of truth into the center of your conscious mind and obliterated it.

Claire blinked and blinked again, "I don't understand."

"Jill is dead," He said it again. It sounded different this time. There was an edge to it that was scary to him. He said it again to see if he still sounded like himself, "Jill is dead."

Still him. But not him. Because who was he without Jill?

"What are you saying to me?"

"We...found Spencer. But he was dead. Wesker…wasn't human. Isn't human. Not anymore. We fought but he grabbed me. He could lift me with one hand. I was choking …and Jill…she jumped."

Claire stared at him, "She what?"

He turned now, and looked at her. The rage boiled and bled. It hurt. It all hurt.

"Are you fucking stupid, Claire? Or deaf? SHE JUMPED!" Why was he shouting now? Who was he?

Claire shook her head, dumbfounded. Numb. "I don't understand."

"I fucked up. I fucked it all up. I tried to set it right. I just…and I couldn't." He was shaking. She saw it in his body. He was shaking.

His grief was so bad. It was palpable. It hurt her. It killed her.

He'd kept her together when their parents had died. Her rock. Her boulder. Her strength. Now she would be his. Now. Now was when Claire Redfield rose.

She took two steps and looked down at what was mashed in his fist.

"I missed! I fucking missed and she…didn't even scream. I couldn't see them in the dark…in the storm…I went down there. I searched. I found…" He lifted his hand and in it was Jill's hat. Her baseball hat. He held it out like he wasn't sure what it was. Shock, Claire thought desperately, he was still in shock. "…and one of her shoes. Their bodies…the river…we searched for days. We searched but their bodies…they wouldn't let me go on…I tried to go on…I tried to find her…"

He looked at the hat in his hand. He squeezed it. "It's my fucking company. MINE. I fired half of them. I told them to get fucked. I kept on looking without them. The rain. It washed away any trace. I couldn't track her. I couldn't find her. They were so stupid. She's not dead. She can't be dead, Claire. I couldn't find her body! How can she be dead?"

Claire held his gaze now. And reached out her hand. He took it, and held on. "I can't escape her. I can't find her. I can't feel her. She's everywhere and nowhere and I can't BREATHE. I can't MOVE. I don't know what the fuck to do."

Claire took the hat he offered and held it. He nodded, nodded again, "What do I do?"

"Chris…oh honey…" And now she moved. She moved in him and slipped her arms around his big body. He started shaking so bad it was like he was having a seizure. She kissed his mouth and his nose. "Oh honey…oh my god…" Her hands guided his face to press to hers.

"What do I do? Claire? What do I do now?"

"It'll be alright honey. I'm so sorry."

So, he said it one more time. "Jill is dead. She said…she said she didn't need me to save her. But she did…and I couldn't…Claire?"

"Yes?"

"I couldn't save her."

Claire said, brokenly, "It is NOT your fault."

"Jill is dead." Oh my god. It sounded so empty. It made no sense. The whole fucking sentence made no sense. Was he in Wonderland? Nothing made sense.

Claire made a sound that was a broken sob, "I know. I know. Jill is dead."

"I don't want her to be dead. I need to get her back. Help me find her, Claire. Help me find her."

Claire made a small sound of grief. She kissed his mouth again. She stroked his hair, "Oh, baby. Oh, honey. I can't. You know I can't. Chris, you know that. She's gone. You can't. You can't get her back, honey. She's gone."

"Fucking Christ. I don't know what to do. I can't go with her. I tried. I keep trying. I can't go with her. I won't die! I just keep getting up."

Claire grabbed his face and held it now, hard. "Don't say shit like this. Do you hear me? Don't ever talk like that again. She went through that window for you. You do NOT give up. You get the fuck up. You fight on. You won't dishonor her that way. You shut up about that shit, Chris Redfield. Do you hear me? You shut the fuck up about that. You are NOT a coward. You didn't die!"

"I should have. Me. Not her. Not her, Claire. Not her. Ah, god…I can't fucking BREATHE." He hunched down now, gasping. "I want to hold her. Go find her, Claire. Go find her so I can hold her."

Claire felt the tears spill down her face. She curled around him. She whispered, "I CAN'T. I wish I could. I wish I could. I'm so so so sorry."

"Get her back, Claire…please…please…Jesus Christ…He TOOK her! Do you hear me!? She isn't DEAD, Claire! HE TOOK HER!" He sounded insane.

It sounded insane to hear it. He knew that. HE KNEW THAT. But he FELT IT IN HIS FUCKING BONES.

"Chris…stop it! STOP IT! She's GONE! She's gone! Stop this…stop it. And let her go."

He fought against her. She held on. She kept on holding on. And he just…he couldn't fight anymore.

He was so tired.

He couldn't fight anymore.

"Get Jill, Claire. Get her. Please….please…don't let her be dead…I can't get her back if she's dead…get her back, Claire. Give her back to me."

"Oh my god, Chris. I would. If I could…I would. I'll fix it. I'll fix it, Chris. I swear to GOD, I'll fix…you." And Claire hated Jill Valentine in that moment. Irrational and stupid. To hate a dead woman. But she hated her. Because she'd wormed her way in and broken him.

"Help me find her, Claire. Help me. Please!"

"Chris…what can I do? What can I do? She's GONE. She's gone."

"Get her back for me. Let me try again. Let me hold her. Get her BACK!"

"…I can't. I'm so sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."

She heard the moment it broke him. His voice broke. His body spilled against her. He hadn't cried once. Not once. Not after their parents had died. He'd picked her up and fixed her.

Her big, strong, beautiful brother. With their father's face and their mother's eyes. Her port in the storm. The strongest man she'd ever known.

It broke him.

He spilled to his knees and she went with him, clinging, rocking.

The death of Jill Valentine was going to kill him.

He wept like he'd leave pieces of himself on the floor around them. It was horrible. It was painful. It was GOOD for him to do it. He had to do it. He had to…so he could let her go.

He let go like he'd die from it. And she held on now. She gave him back the strength he'd given her all those years. She held him and hummed the song their mother had sang when they'd been scared and lonely and lost.

She stroked his hair and held on.

And she'd keep on holding on until he was ready to stand up…and be Chris Redfield again.

And that started, by letting go of Jill Valentine.

Stasis Tank – Rhineland Peninsula –

In the darkness, voices were distorted.

Like listening down a tunnel.

Like wavering inside of the water.

Vital Signs – Good. Initial testing – Complete. Cryostasis – Initiated. Subject – Stable.

"We have successfully reanimated her, sir. She's stable."

"Good. That's good, Ferguson. That's good. If you'd failed? I'd have flayed the flesh from your bones."

"…s-s-sir," The other voice was afraid now. Terrified. "I…I will keep testing, sir. And keep her safe for you."

"Good man."

Terror. She could smell it. Why could she smell it?

Who was she? Where was she? When was she?

A face above her. Blonde. No eyes. Glasses. No eyes but glasses. A smile.

"Peek-a-boo, I see you. Sleep, Jill. Now your story begins. Sleep. And when you rise…I will show you what it means…to rule."

Oh god.

Jill. She was Jill.

She was Jill Valentine.

She tried to shift. She tried to move. She was Jill.

But she wasn't. Something was missing. What was missing?

She couldn't move. She couldn't move. But she could speak. She could say…just one word.

Just one.

It was what was missing. What she NEEDED to be Jill Valentine again.

"….Chris."

And she slipped back into the darkness to the cool voice in her ears. "Chris Redfield is dead. There is no more Chris. There is only…Uroboros."

The grief of it chased her into the long black…to die amongst the fear.

"Ferguson…be very clear with what you are telling me here."

"S..s..sir…I…I'm," Ferguson gulped, quaking, "I'm saying her defense system…her immune system…sir…it's not human. It's not even close. I'd be curious if she's had so much as a nose bleed in years. Her blood…look…look here."

He shifted.

Wesker looked into the microscope. He felt the world fracture for the first time in a long time. He felt…emotion. And he hadn't felt emotion in so long that it was a surprise to discover he still possessed any of it at all.

He lifted his head. His eyes frightened the wimpy scientist to death. But the boy stuttered out with excitement, "You see it too! Right? She's –"

"She's immune. She has antibodies to the T-Virus."

"Yes, sir. Yes. It must have been dormant in her. The cryostasis and the compression of her cells in ice…it must have reactivated the healing properties of it. It burnt the virus out sir…but it didn't leave her blood completely…it…hitched a ride like a thief. It's STILL THERE. You can't…you can't use her as a test subject for Uroboros, sir. It won't work. B-But you…you could…"

Wesker felt something that surprised him again. His heart. He wasn't even aware sometimes it was still present. He was aware now. He was aware.

Because it was POUNDING in his breast.

"I can use her blood to…finish it." It was the ONE flaw of Uroboros. The basis of the flower that had ignited progenitor was volatile. They called it the "Stairway to the Sun". It was poison to the human race he was trying to evolve. Instead of urging them to ascend, it burned where it touched. The weak and delicate nature of the mortal shell simply could not stand up against the power of his great creation.

Until now.

Because the answers, it seemed, had always been in Jill Valentine's blood. And he KNEW now why he'd been drawn to her all this time. He knew. It was because she wasn't mortal. Not really. At first, yes, like him…she'd suffered the strains of humanity…but the T-Virus had created TWO tyrants in Raccoon City it seemed.

It had touched TWO of them and made them immortal.

Him…and the girl in the tank before him.

"Yes, sir. Yes. You can use it to make the virus less volatile to humans. To finally make it…perfect."

Perfect.

Wesker lifted his eyes to the tank. He shifted his head, watching her. He'd once looked at the tyrant with something akin to love on his face. If he was capable of love, he'd have felt it for the tyrant. He'd have felt it his creation. And in that moment, he'd have felt it…for Jill Valentine. Because she was no longer a pawn in his game to destroy the world and rebuild it.

She was now his ally.

She was now his creation.

She was now…his mirror.

He looked at her in the tank and the glass reflected his face back at him. It floated in the cold liquid beside Jill Valentine's and refracted it. He'd planned once to use her to build a new world.

Now?

He was going to have her beside him…while they built it TOGETHER.

Jill Valentine was declared dead on November 23rd, 2006. She shared an official death date with the man who'd played them like puppets right into his waiting hands. Her empty grave and headstone shared a graveyard with over a dozen other agents who'd died, bravely, heroically and tragically fighting bioterror.

Chris had fought against it. He'd battled so hard. He'd pushed and shouted and thrown things.

He'd vowed all kinds of revenge if they stopped looking.

They looked at him like he was insane.

And the powers beyond the BSAA had finally said: enough.

The day they declared her dead, they had to sedate him.

His oldest friend in the world had stood there and had him committed. Committed like some kind of drooling mad hatter to the nut hut where people ate their own hair and saw ghosts.

Maybe he belonged there. Maybe he did.

Because he saw her ghost everywhere.

In the faces of people on the street. In the shop windows he passed by. He saw her in the store. In the office. In his car beside him as he drove.

She talked to him.

It was the moment he knew he was insane. He was, certifiable. He was, fucked.

He could HEAR her talking to him.

When he couldn't feel her. When he couldn't see her. When he went more than a day without hearing her voice…he did stupid shit to stir her up. He sat on his roof and shouted at the heavens.

He drove too fast the wrong way down the fucking highway.

He slept with her fucking beret.

He wore her ballcap. Everywhere.

He wore it everywhere.

He took every mission he could find to try to get himself killed. He took any mission that offered him hope she was still alive. He chased demons and ghosts and dead ends. He did nothing at all but beat the shit out things with his fists.

He stopped drinking beer. He couldn't hear her when he was drunk. So he stopped drinking. He went into her room in the corporate apartments they'd occupied and got in her bed.

He didn't get out for two days.

She'd left a towel hanging over the back of a chair in her office. It still smelled like her hair. He took it to bed with him like a woobie.

He knew he was insane. He knew he was gorked out of his head. He knew it. The grief over her was killing him.

Some days, he did ok. He got up. He showered. He shaved. He went to work. He had lunch with Claire. He faked it. He did ok.

He came home and put on her ballcap and took her towel to bed with him.

He never cried.

Which, was probably bad. It was probably fucking bad.

The grief was too deep for that. It was too wide.

He sat in a tattoo shop and had her name tattooed on his back. A ribbon, wrapped around a lock. Each strike of the needle in his skin left blood and regret in its wake.

He did ok. Some days, he did ok. He came home, he played with Dog. He cooked. He watched Sports Center. He cleaned up the dishes. He changed the oil in his car.

He came home one day to find Claire sitting on the couch with Dog. He joked with her. He faked it. He went into his room to get the ballcap.

It wasn't there.

And neither was the towel.

He came out of the bedroom, shaking. "Claire?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you…were you in my room?"

Claire glanced up from the game she was playing. She started to make a joke. His face said: no jokes. His face said: trouble.

"Yes. Cleaning up. It was a shit pit in there. I was trying to find Dog's frisbee. Why?"

He couldn't feel anything. Why couldn't he feel anything? He was cold. And he said, "Did you move stuff around?"

"Uh…maybe? Like what?"

"Like…a ballcap. And a towel?"

She blinked at him. She looked confused. He felt the roll of something horrible in his guts. It hurt. It all hurt now. It hurt like pain and fire and death.

"Claire?"

"I'm thinking. Oh!" She snapped her fingers, "Yes, I did. The blue ones? They were filthy! I threw them in the wash for you."

Oh god.

Oh my god.

He raced to the washer. He couldn't breathe. He raced to it and ripped open the lid. They were soaked. He pulled them free while Claire stared at him like he'd lost his mind.

He ripped them out of churning, soapy water like it was Jill. Like he'd found Jill in the river and pulled her free. He was making some kind of sound that might not have been human.

"Chris?"

He lifted them to his nose…and they didn't smell like her. They didn't smell like Jill anymore. He couldn't smell her.

She was gone.

He breathed it, a prayer, a death rattle. "What did you DO, Claire? What did you do?!"

"They were dirty. I washed them. I was trying to help. What's the matter?"

He turned to face her. He held them in his dripping fists. She looked at his face and then at his hands…and she'd breathed. She'd forgotten. She'd forgotten about the hat. Oh my GOD, she'd forgotten.

She lifted a hand to her mouth in horror. "Oh, Chris. Oh god…I forgot. I forgot. I'm so so sorry."

He said nothing. He went to his room. He kicked the door closed behind him. He stood in the empty bedroom with those sopping things in his hands.

And he sank to his knees with them clutched to his chest. He put them against his face. He tried to smell her. And he fell apart.

It hurt like he was dying on that dirty table in Russia. Like finding Forrest on that balcony in Arklay. Like watching her go out that window. He couldn't find her, couldn't feel her, couldn't smell her. And he couldn't let her go.

And he couldn't hold on to her anymore.

The sound that came out of his bedroom was like nothing Claire had ever heard before. It was the worst thing she'd ever born witness too. He didn't just grieve her. He mourned her. He bled and burnt and died with her each time he said her name.

She'd taken the last thing he had of her.

And now he had nothing left to hold on to.

He might have come back from that. Maybe. He might have. He was CHRIS REDFIELD. Chris Redfield came back. The Human Tank. The Hero. The Power behind the BSAA. A presence. A protector. A righteous warrior to the cause. He might have come back from it.

And then they declared her dead.

And he lost what little mind he had left.

Chris felt something that surprised him. His heart. He wasn't even aware sometimes it was still present. He was aware now. He was aware.

Because it was POUNDING in his breast.

He'd thought she'd taken it with her when she'd leaped out that fucking window.

But it was still there…burning inside him like he'd taken a Stairway to the Sun. Poisoning his blood like something volatile that would kill him. Kill him. Burning him alive where it touched. Without her there to stop it.

She'd gone out that window and killed them both that day. Because his grief for her was immortal. It was undying. It was perfect in its utter desolation.

It was inside of him like a virus without a cure. And he didn't have the antibodies to fight it. It was going to eat him alive.

He ripped apart his office. He threw a chair out the window in a shatter of glass. He beat his fists bloody while he lost his fucking mind. Why were they all against him? Why were they trying so hard to take her away from him?

His face reflected back at him in the window. The picture of her hung on the wall beside it. Them – in S.T.A.R.S. Her – smiling and with her arm looped over his shoulders. A good day. A good fucking day. His face floated beside hers in the glass. It was him, but it was her face he recognized. Hers refracted it.

He put his fist through the glass.

Fractured. Cracked. Broken. Ruined.

Better.

The reflection was better now. Because that reflection? It was him….without her. His world that had once been them, against the rest, TOGETHER.

He would never again have her beside him…and he had to begin to rebuild that world...ALONE.

It was Claire's voice behind him that told him he was lost. She breathed, in horror, "Chris…Chris…what have you done?"

Surely, she knew the answer.

He was the guy with the unstoppable fists. It was a running joke. There wasn't a problem Chris Redfield didn't punch in the face.

Fist, face, finished.

So, he'd punched himself in the face. And left nothing but a shattered version of himself.

There were other people in the room now, of course. And Claire was trying to stop them from taking him away. "Get OFF him! Get off him! He's hurting! He's lost! YOU CAN'T LOCK HIM AWAY FOR THAT!"

But it didn't matter anyway.

They put him down like a rabid dog. And it was ok.

It was ok.

Because, most of the time, he could feel her in the dark. And if he listened hard enough? He could almost hear her laughing.

So, it was ok in the dark. It was ok. It was the only place he wasn't ALONE.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> +Author's note:
> 
> The broken girl. The broken boy. The mastermind that stands between. The game begins.
> 
> Slainte.

XXIV: The Spoils of War

:::::::::::::Twenty-Four::::::::::

"I don't want it."

Behind her, the little man was trembling. He was trembling. He murmured, in a thick French accent, "Si'l vous plait, mademoiselle. Just a leetle bit, qui?"

She turned from the sterile steel bed where she sat. She looked at the cowering little worm of a man offering biscuits. If she didn't eat, eventually they'd call for her captor. Eventually, he'd finally come to face her.

She was going insane in this tiny room. She was losing her mind. She was done here.

She needed him to LET HER OUT.

"No. Tell him…tell him I won't eat until he shows his fucking face."

The little man bowed his way from her cage. He left her alone in the cold. There was nothing here in the cold room but a bed and four walls and a single screen fitted into the wall across from her. Occasionally, it would flicker on. It would show things to remind her the world still existed outside the walls. It would show the news in various parts of the world. The weather. It made sure she was aware that time hadn't stopped when she'd…died.

It was all innocuous news. It was really just enough to wet the appetite for something more. It was enough to make her HATE being trapped in this shit pit.

The door behind her opened.

And it was the first time he'd bothered to show his face. She had no clue how long she'd been in this room since she'd awoken in that lab with hovering nerds above her. It was surreal. Like The Fifth Element. She was Mila Jovovich with nerdy little geeks cooing at her in awe.

So, she'd died.

Awesome.

But not really. Because she knew NOTHING. Had it worked? Did taking Wesker out the window work? Had it changed ANYTHING?

Was Chris…alive?

Jesus.

She couldn't even stomach that part. Thinking of Wesker taking her body, turning around, and going back to finish the job. Her overly active imagination could SEE it happening.

Chris, trying to get to her in the river. Chris, turning back.

Lightning – the storm. The storm kicking around him as he came face to face with Wesker. Not dead. Not dead at all. She was dead there in the sand between them.

And Chris…oh god…

She put her face in her hands. The battle. It was epic. It was legendary. It was the stuff that the bioterror world would put in history to cement his name amongst the stars. Chris Redfield – locked in battle with the devil.

All power, all purpose, all that beautiful, wonderful, driven strength. All of that bone deep, soul seering, born in the blood love that he just…radiated. Snuffed out. Finished. Lost.

Consumed but the man who would destroy him.

Lifted in the rain, Chris would keep on fighting. Keep on fighting.

Driven to his knees, he'd never give up. Covered in blood, in sweat, in strength – he'd face down his enemy in the pouring rain with no signs of weakness, no backing down, no surrender. Head down, balls out, no bullshit.

And it would never be enough.

Ever.

Never enough.

Wesker would rip his still beating heart from the shattered center of that beautiful chest and hold it in his palm. For a moment, a moment suspended forever, Chris would kneel there in the blood tinged water and gasp – still alive…still fighting.

And then his body would tumble into the water beside her. His body would collapse there as his blood spilled red and wet around them. And they were finally, finally, finally able to be together – where there was no more fighting.

Oh god.

Jill rose from the bed and spun toward the monster who stood there watching her.

The rage on her face amused him.

She was something to see. The testing – the experimentation – had robbed away that gypsy dark beauty he'd once enjoyed on her. She was a pale reflection of herself now. She was icy blonde. She was milk pale skin and eyes the shade of the sky where it touches the ends of the earth and blends with the beyond.

It thrilled him, in a way, because she was – in one hand – very similar to him. She was WESKER. It was inside her now. As it had been inside him once. The drive, the determination to become something MORE. The face. The beauty. The mortal ties to perfection. It fairly RADIATED off her as she stood there, heaving.

The strange thing that had started at his discovery of her GIFT, was still there. It was something that had died long before Raccoon City. Perhaps it had died in a lab somewhere beneath that burgeoning necropolis when Spencer had begun building Project W to create a new world.

It was feeling.

It was FEELING.

Wesker had avoided her while he dealt with the feeling of it. The tyrant had been a perfect, brilliant, nearly flawless creation. A killer – a completely soulless, thoughtless, hollow entity that sought only to fulfil its purpose. And HE was a tyrant.

He was a tyrant.

And yet…his heart. It kept reminding him that his body was still mortal. The recovery from the fall had taken longer than it should have. It had frustrated him. It had irritated him.

It reminded him of being a child – fragile and weak. He'd been the smartest of those who'd flourished in Umbrella's embrace. A scrappy, talented, eager child without compunction to crush his opponents and achieve his goals. Cunning, the child Albert had been a people pleaser to secure his place among those who would help him excel. Wise even as little more than a babe, he'd manipulated those in his universe to serve him.

It was how he'd found Birkin – and set about changing the world.

Even then, even before, he'd been a god. Even then. His blood had been ripe with the virus and his brain shaken loose of the indoctrination that Spencer had tried to use to control him. He'd risen among the ranks by playing the game, and well, while he pushed the pieces of his chessboard toward their inevitable checkmate.

The only piece he hadn't anticipated was Jill Valentine.

He'd once thought her a pawn – shifting and sliding over the board of his game like a grunt in the service of a greater master. Eclipsed by the KING she stood beside, she appeared nothing more than a shield between Redfield and his own destruction.

And she was. SHE WAS. But she wasn't a pawn.

He'd been wrong. And he was never wrong. She wasn't a pawn at all.

She was the QUEEN.

The most powerful, versatile piece on the chessboard. It was never the King. The King was nothing. The King was secondary. He was expendable. Because the QUEEN held all the quiet power. And she'd taken him out a window to prove that power. She'd taken him out that window to protect the useless King.

That was what it meant to rule. It meant showing your power – and defeating your opponent with the strength of it. She'd taken him by surprise. And he was NEVER taken by surprise. He hadn't SEEN it. He hadn't seen that power in her. And it had been his downfall.

That dormant power. That had been in her all along. Gifted to her by the Nemesis. Gifted to her in Raccoon City where she'd STAYED while Redfield had run. Never the pawn.

THE QUEEN.

And a queen needed a new world to rule.

Because she was now HIS by right. By blood. And he would show her what it meant to rule.

She said, "Let me out of here, you son of a bitch. Let me out. You got what you wanted. You took me from him to hurt him. It's done. Now let me the fuck out of this cage."

He leaned on the wall, eyeing her. Him and his stupid sunglasses. His stupid bored face. His stupid black clothes. Did he ever wear anything but black?! Hadn't he heard there were OTHER COLORS in the world!?

And why didn't he age? He never aged. He always looked exactly the same.

Unchanged. Unaltered. Unyielding.

She hated him.

She spoke again, into the silence, "Speak! You mute bastard! SPEAK!"

And he did. Which made her jump like he'd struck her. "Do you command me, Jill? Like a dog? Like a pet? Perhaps you think I will…acquiesce? Roll over? Beg? I am not Redfield."

She HATED him.

Jill shifted in the little blue robe she wore. It gaped to show pale skin so ethereal you could almost see the veins beneath. A spiderweb of blue beneath all that white like pathways to her creation.

Jill took a step toward him. "Where is he? What did you do with him? Is he here? Is he..dead?"

Her voice hitched. It hitched on the word. It hitched and had her whirling away to watch that blank screen on the wall. She would NOT give him the satisfaction of crying. No. He wouldn't get that from her.

He'd taken everything else.

He wouldn't get that from her.

She knew he was moving toward her. She knew it. She braced and waited. She had a handful of seconds to determine if she could take him out and run. But where would she run to?

She didn't know where she was.

She didn't know anything.

He stood behind her, close enough she could feel the line of his body against her leg and hip. She stiffened, simultaneously afraid and revolted. He spoke, and his voice was cultured and smooth. That edge of something that told her he hadn't always been hanging out on American soil. British? Something.

"Perhaps…it's time for you to see what has become of Jill Valentine."

He gestured, and the television flickered to life. It was an aerial view. A helicopter was circling a graveyard. The sound of chopper blades was loud and rustling. It permeated the air as the camera zoomed down on the gathering that waited in the steely gray air. It was foggy – the dew point rising to offer up pea soup to those who stood around the headstone and grieved.

She saw Barry first. His red hair, his tired eyes. His arm was looped over his wife Cathy, who leaned into his chest and wept. His girls were there – little Moira and Polly. Both pretty girls that were on the verge of adulthood. Moira with her rebellious streak – her blue hair and black eyeliner. The goth phase was rocking her hard. It was driving Barry insane. Polly was a pretty princess by comparison. In a little black dress with her blonde hair in curls. She liked to dance and paint.

It was Carlos beside them. With his perfect hair and his bad jokes. Carlos, in sunglasses, holding Rebecca Chambers against him while she cried. Jill tried to remember if she'd EVER seen Rebecca Chambers cry. Her mind was blank on it.

There was Mira and Quint. Gertie and Keith. O'Brien and his wife Kelly. There was Leon Kennedy, to her immense surprise, in some kind of suit that cost more than the monthly rent on a penthouse in New York. It was HIS arm around Claire. HIS.

Because her brother wasn't there to do it.

They all wore suits and ties. Dresses and wraps. It was clearly chilly. Fall had slapped her hands on the face of the Big Apple and left her shivering. They were all dressed to mourn around that lonely little grave. Flowers were laid on it. Some were her favorites. The stargazer lilies. The tulips. Leon Kennedy and his single red rose. It was a tribute. It was lovely.

It was nothing.

Because HE was the only one not in a suit. He was in his uniform. In his vest. With that big knife strapped to his back. He was covered in gear like he was going to battle. Like he'd rise from her grave and go off to war. Would he fight death? He couldn't stop it. Couldn't defeat it. Did he think he could use those fists and punch fate in the face and bring her back?

He wasn't standing at her graveside to weep.

He was kneeling on it. Down on one knee, crouched there, his gloved hand laid across the top of that gravestone like he could feel her there. His other hand was clenched around that stupid banana. That banana she'd won that day at the parade.

He hadn't brought her flowers.

He'd brought her a banana. A banana with her name tape from her uniform stretched across its bosom. Beneath its silly smiling face.

A banana named Valentine.

She didn't even realize she'd taken a step toward the screen until she was there. The swirling gray sky around him turned his eyes the same. She watched his face while the camera panned in on him. She waited for it.

He didn't disappoint her. He bowed his head. His fingers curled into the stone he held and clenched. His jaw did the same. And she lifted her hand to the screen. She laid it, palm flat, against the side of his face.

Her thumb swept like she could touch him. Like she could feel him. It skimmed his mouth and the lines beside it carved through from grief and loss. The perpetual three days growth of beard that made that strong jaw, fierce. The curves and bones of his ancestors – the warriors who'd ridden the plains protecting their people with no more than skill and determination and will. She touched him. Like she'd give him the strength to go on.

And she whispered, "I'm still here. I'm still here. Can't you feel me? I'm still here."

Maybe it was madness. Maybe it was simply wanting something too much. But his eyes opened. His head lifted. He laid the banana on her grave. His other hand moved and curled around his neck. And it was her dogtags that dangled there, close to his heart.

It was like…he could hear her? It was like he could hear her now.

Because she whispered, "I'm not there. You know that, Chris. You know it. I will find you. Get up."

It was like he heard it. It was like he knew she was there. She was, in a way, wasn't she always there?

He pulled something from the front of his vest. He spoke, but she couldn't hear him, she watched his mouth. She tried to see what he said…but that was lost to her. He put the thing in his hand in his other and jerked. She watched the blood well, sharp and red, in his ruined palm.

And he drove her knife into the cold ground beneath him. He drove her knife into the dirt…and severed that final tie to that vacant plot where there was nothing buried – but regret. His blood spilled there to baptize it. His blood spilled there against her blade and filled the pain in her chest with purpose. With determination. There was no giving up in him. Not here. Not now. She KNEW. He was coming for her.

He was HERS.

She whispered, "That's it. That's it. I'm here. I'm here, Chris. Get up."

And he did.

As the camera cut away. As the rain broke the steely gray sky and fell wet and cold on those who still wept. Chris Redfield rose from the cold ground where there was no body buried. He put his bloody hand on her tombstone and it spilled red against the letters of her name.

And he was finally ready. She saw it on his face. She saw it all over him. The strength. It stole her breath, and gave her back some of her own.

He didn't weep. He didn't mourn. And he didn't stay.

He turned away from her empty grave and strode through the dying grass. Like a warrior. Like a lion. Looking for a battle to win.

She slid her fingers from the screen. She put them to her lips. Like she could taste him if she did.

He didn't go alone – which humbled her. He paused, like she could hear his voice if she just listened hard enough, he paused. His sister moved beside him. But that wasn't it. It wasn't all.

His sister would always stand with him. Always.

And Leon Kennedy would stand with his sister.

He ranged himself on the other side. The former rookie cop who'd become the best in his field. The boy blackmailed into service to save a little girl. The other piece of the puzzle that had been Raccoon City. The four of them – born in blood in the streets of a city under sieged. Each with a purpose. Each with a destiny. Each with a determination to rid the world of that which had stolen their lives.

They moved together now, a trio of heroes, missing the fourth…missing the girl who'd made their circle whole…and they moved through the rain toward the edge of the graveyard. And she knew…she knew…they would not stop until they found her. And they were complete again.

At the car, he turned back. She watched him, she waited, and he watched the wind pour cold and empty across her shallow grave. She said it again, one more time, "I'm not there, Chris. I'm not there. Don't let go of me. Don't let go. I will find you. I swear to god, I will find you."

She turned back from the screen. She'd forgotten Wesker was there.

He was watching her. He wasn't amused. He was curious. He'd never understood that kind of devotion. He'd never felt it. It was curious to him that he would be interested in feeling it. What did it feel like to have someone in your blood, in your bones, in your soul?

Human nature never failed to disappoint him. The likelihood of slipping into such mundane emotional trappings was futile. Nothing came from that kind of thing but death. Surely, she knew that.

But she said, "Whatever you're planning. Whatever you're thinking, remember what I told you. If you so much as scratch him, I will take you out another window. And another. And another. Until one of them ends with you dead. I don't give a fuck what you're made out of. If it bleeds, it can die."

Wesker studied her in the fluorescent lighting. And when he spoke, it was quietly, "I will leave him untouched. Unchallenged. Alive...but the price is this..."

He crossed the sterile room toward her. Jill froze, braced, and waited. He took her chin and turned her face up to him. She trembled with hate for him.

And he said, "You do not run. You do not try to find him. You do not alert him to where you are. You are dead to him. If you betray me, I will have him gutted like a pig and strung up by his intestines. I will feed him to my dogs. I will rip him apart a piece at a time while you beg and cry and resist. And then? I will go after his sister."

Oh god.

His thumb slid over the dip in her chin. She felt the rage of it in her soul. Her soul...that was price for Chris' safety. It had always been...the devil's bargain. And she paid it now and damned herself to the dark.

It was the only way she could love him.

By making a deal with the DEVIL.

So, she whispered, "Me for him. That's the deal. ME FOR HIM."

"Done."

And it rang like a bell - tolling to signal the end of her world. The end...of Jill Valentine.

Her back struck the mirror. It shivered. It sent her to knees on the cold floor. She gasped, shaking with it. Her blood spilled onto the ground around her.

He stood there -shirtless, slick with sweat. He paced her. His eyes were without the glasses. The gym was dark and cold. In the dark, he didn't need them. Those eyes...they were terrifying. They told the story of man who'd sold his soul for power. They told the story of what she'd become, cloistered in this hellhole beside him, under his wing like some kind of perverted protege.

Would she wake up one day with eyes like a serpent? Would she wake up one day without Chris in her blood?

Unlikely.

She'd woken in the dead of the night to him. Above her, inside her, beside her. She'd rolled to find him there. His mouth, his hands. She'd watched his head between her thighs as he lapped her.

And she'd broken from the dream in a slick sweat.

Wesker never let up. He drove her to the mat at all hours. He pushed her, shouting at her, mocking her.

When she went down - he jerked her up and threw her. Sometimes, some woman would come to watch them. Some big tittied thing with dark hair and Gucci sunglasses. Jill sipped a bottle of water and watched her as she played with his chest one day.

She cooed. She flirted. She was a dove for him. Gorgeous, objectively, and all hips and tits. Chris' type, hands down. Apparently, NOT Wesker's.

The devil denied her. Carefully. SOOO carefully. He turned her aside and assuaged her ego with a kiss. He let her paw him sometimes. But he didn't give a shit. His disinterest was palpable. Either the bitch was nuts or blind if she didn't see it.

And she WAS a bitch. Big time. She stalked into the gym and fired off insults.

"Albert, darling, why are you playing with your toy again? Isn't she just a test subject?! I want to go out to dinner! I'm tired of being in this stuff mansion. Take me OUT, darling! I will adore you forever."

Oy.

A few weeks of this and Jill knew now her name was Excella. She was some kind of genius apparently. Although she seemed as useless as tits on a boar. But she was always hanging around. And she was always shooting Wesker full of something.

She had a little case and she would pull out injections and stick him. He'd shudder. He'd breathe.

Jill knew her new life's mission was to figure out what the fuck was in that case.

Maybe it was the key to her escape.

Naturally, she was going to try. She had to. She'd lied to him. She'd lied that day he'd interviewed her in the office. Total obedience? Who the hell was he kidding? Like she was a dog or something. She was going to plan and get the fuck away from him. She just had to figure out HOW to do that without getting Chris killed.

Chris - she turned to little mirror on the wall beside her. She blinked, she closed her eyes, and she could FEEL him behind her.

She murmured, "You haunt me."

And against her ear, "I'd rather fuck you."

And Jill shivered.

She opened her eyes.

Alone.

Her face in the mirror. Alone.

She turned back to find the devil watching her. His flawless build. His flawless face. He was nearly impossibly perfect -physically. No scars. No flaws. He had that hard jaw and perfect aquiline nose. Someone had taken stellar DNA to make him.

Make him? Was he created in a lab somewhere?

She tried to picture him being BORN and her brain stalled.

More likely he'd CRAWLED from the seventh pit of hell and take residence on Earth.

That's what demons did after all. They rose from the firey abyss and slayed, flayed, and fornicated. They took your soul. They raped you while you screamed.

She tried to picture Wesker raping a girl while she screamed.

And her brain STALLED. He wasn't a rapist. Why did she feel that? Souless, damned, dark and dedicated...yes. But he wasn't a rapist. He wouldn't understand something like that. He TOOK power, yes he did. But he preferred for it to be GIVEN to him. He wanted you to offer yourself to his conquering. It was why he'd played the damn game with her all these years.

He'd been trying to mold her all along. MOLD her. Into what?

She still didn't know.

She studied him. He tilted his head. She tilted hers back.

Chris would have laughed.

Wesker lifted a corner of his mouth...and beckoned.

She threw down the bottle of water. She raced at him. He braced. She spun low for his feet and rolled right to miss a kick to the face. He grabbed for her and she threw a reverse head butt to keep him away.

His hand skimmed her ponytail and caught. Jill rolled up under his arm and threw down her elbow. She broke his hold, reversed her body into him, and elbowed him in the sternum. His hands caught her elbow, hyper extended her arm, and he threw her out and away.

She hit the mat and rolled. He threw a spin kick and Jill went into the splits, ducked her back, and came up to punch him in the groin. She plowed her fist right into his balls. He took it and slapped her face.

While she smarted, he grabbed her shirt and jerked. She went up, launched like she'd jumped right on a trampoline, and came back down so fast she KNEW she was going to hit on her face.

But he caught her. He grunted. He tucked her in against him.

Her sweaty hand slid over his shoulder.

Wesker set her on her feet and Jill drove the heel of her palm right into his solar plexus. She braced her feet, drove from the hip, and put all her weight behind it. She tried to put her hand through him and out the other side. Part of martial arts was VISUALIZATION. She visualized ripping out his heart.

She saw it in her palm. She saw it beneath her boot.

And when it hit, it drove him back two steps. He hunched a little around the pain of it.

A god, my ass, she thought in triumph, he was still mortal enough that he could be hurt.

He shifted. He grabbed her wrist so fast, she couldn't even move. He jerked her forward and drove her arm up behind her back. He hooked an ankle behind hers and spilled her to her back on the floor.

And then he straddled her and shoved her hands up into her breasts to pin her there on the mat.

Jill panted, watching him from her back.

He held her gaze. His CHEST was RED where she'd hit him. Yeah. GOD, MY ASS.

He watched her face. And he knew it was time to test her. She had to be tested. It was the only way he'd ever know the extent of her loyalty. If she resisted, he would find a way to control her. Ferguson was already working on something in the lab. It was being marketed to generate funding for the Uroboros project. It was perfect for controlling soldiers...if a bit temperamental.

It was nearly ready.

And so was she.

He breathed above her, sweating. His voice was smooth and calm, "You fight like a child, Jill. All passion and rage. When will you understand that there is nothing to bind you to it anymore? Chris Redfield is dead to you."

She jerked. And he saw the resistance on her face. Still. She was still resisting it.

He shoved her into the mat with her bound hands. It flashed like fire on her face. He said it again, "Chris Redfield is a puppet. A fool. A monkey with cymbals playing his music for a master. He is a hero - and heroes die, Jill. They die. He is DEAD to you. Leave him in your past. Learn from it. And embrace the future that is without him."

Jill held that swirling gaze. She gnashed her teeth. "When was the last time you felt anything real, Wesker? Not just power. EMOTION. Do you even remember what it is? It's what we mortals use to GUIDE us. To MOVE us. To motivate and propel us. It took me out that window. It doesn't go away because you demand it. You can command me not to see him. I agreed to that. I will keep my end of that bargain. But you can't command me not to love him anymore. It doesn't work that way."

She tilted her head now, curious about him. "Is there nothing left in you that remembers love? Or were you ever capable of it?"

He held her on the mat, judging her mood. She was right, in one hand, he didn't understand her love for Redfield. He'd nurtured it. He'd pushed it into being. But he'd never anticipated the scope of it. It was beyond his limited understanding. "There is no room for love in battle, Jill. Love is a lie conconcted by the minds of those who need an excuse for their senselessness. I offer you more than that. Chris Redfield was nothing but a boy who betrayed you and abused you. Neglected and reflected your power. Take his. Forget him. Come to my side. I will show you what comes after love is gone. And power remains."

She studied his face. She looked for anything that was human in him. But there was nothing there that made sense to her.

She whispered, "You think I would trade Chris for power?"

His hands shifted off hers. He released her. He kept on straddling her.

Jill craned her neck from the floor. She crooked a finger at him. He leaned down toward her.

"You think you can take his place in me? Do you? Rip out his heart and replace it with power?"

His hand cupped her face, surprising her. His thumb stroked the smooth column of her throat. He tilted her chin up to look at her face in the low lights of the gym. And he answered her, "Come to my side, willingly, completely. I will give you anything you want. The power to forget him. The power to destroy him. To conquer your enemies. To build empires. To change worlds. Your blood is my blood, Jill. Your will is indomitable. I will break you if you make me. I will break you. Come to my side, forget Chris Redfield, and I will give you the world."

That echoed around them. It chilled her bones. It rocked her soul.

And that was the power of the devil, she thought, because it tempted her. In some dark part of her heart, it tempted her. He didn't want to run from her. He didn't repulse at the idea of her ability to choose her own wants over the world. He offered her the ability to shape the world to what she wanted. To what she needed.

And the only cost was her heart.

She leaned up. He leaned down. Their mouths brushed as she spoke.

And Jill said, "You don't. You don't understand it. You can't. Wesker...you're not a god at all...you're pathetic. And sad. And I actually feel sorry for you. Because maybe you'll rule the world someday. Maybe that's true. But you'll have no one beside you to care. No one. And that's just...sad. If I went a hundred years at your side, it would never be enough to make me forget him. Why would I trade a hero...for a fool?"

He moved so fast that she didn't even have time to blink.

He grabbed her and threw her into the wall. She struck, the mirror cracked and shattered when she hit, and she slid to the floor on her face.

His hands curled into her hair and he jerked her head back while her body told her she was broken. She was broken. Her spine was broken. Her vision went red and gray.

And he said, "Save your pity, Jill. Give it to, Redfield. Because I won't be alone. I won't be. YOU will be there to serve me. Either beside me...or beneath me. The choice is yours."

She gasped and blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. He lifted her in his arms. Her head spilled against his chest. Her arms dangled, useless. She felt the world shift to black and white.

Admittedly, he'd been too harsh. It was a constant surprise to him that he could still feel anything. She kept pushing him. She kept provoking him. It was interesting to know she could.

Pointless. But interesting.

She heard him speak. "Ferguson, put her back in stasis. She isn't ready."

"...sir...you...she's...you've broken her?"

"She's broken herself. Put her back. And when she is healed? Ready the P-30."

"Are you sure, sir? Are you sure?"

He looked at her bleeding mouth. He thought of her words. He considered her there as he put her in the tank to heal. Perhaps she'd been TRYING to get him to kill her. Clever thing that she was.

He said, "Not today, Jill. Your story doesn't end here. This "fool" has need of you. Perhaps you aren't ready to come to my side willing...but it doesn't matter. When you awake? You will not only serve me, you'll worship me. And you'll regret the moment you tried to play games with the devil."

The world went black. It went gray. And it was lost beneath the rush of blood to her head, that told her she couldn't escape him. That he would kill her again...again...again...and bring her back like a zombie...like a vampire...like a GOD...she would never be able to escape him.

She was damned.

In the long night, in the early day, he rolled to his back in his bed.

The shadows on the ceiling danced and cavorted. Clever things. They taunted and tempted him.

He would control her. The P30 would rip her resistance away. It would leave her hollow and ready for his instruction. It would make her his pupil. His protege. His powerful right hand. His cruel tutelage would strip away the layers of humanity that still ensorceled her like Redfield's ghost.

He would finally show her what power could do.

He waited for the thrill of it to fill his blood and bones. He waited for it to mount him and make him one with the power of it.

But the thrill was slackened. It was weakened.

By the seed of something that PLAGUED him. His fucking human heart.

It wouldn't let him rest. It wiggled tiny things into his mind. It offered stupid human things to his emptiness. Regret.

It tickled in his chest.

And his red gaze shifted to the tank where she dwelled; peaceful, serene.

Why would I trade the hero...for the fool?

The seed bloomed wider amongst the fucking human heart she'd awakened in his chest.

What was it? He eyed her face. He shifted his gaze to the shadows above the bed. What was it there inside him?

But, of course, he knew what it was. It was jealousy.

Jealousy.

Of the boy who'd eclipsed her for so long. Who'd hidden her. The boy she coveted above all things.

He said the name, into the quiet air, "Redfield."

And it was the moment he knew the only way to keep her...was to see Redfield destroyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post Note: Albert Wesker runs around Resident Evil 5 screaming REDFIELD at the top of his lungs. Why? Sure, the thorn in his side etc. But how about good old fashioned jealousy? The last of the things he can't really feel. It was more then the devil bargained for. His game has changed. It is no longer just about winning...it's about ruling. The world...and Jill.


	25. Chapter 25

XXV: The Price of Power

:::::::::::::Twenty-Five::::::::::

"I don't want to."

Standing across from him Rebecca Chambers was worrying her little lips between her teeth. Quint stood beside her, giving him owl eyes. Rebecca looked exactly like she had in Raccoon City. Not an extra line, or a wrinkle, or a gray hair.

It kinda pissed Chris off.

He glanced at his face in the window beside them. Old. That's what he saw. Old. And weak.

And he couldn't go up against Wesker as either.

He glared at her now, eyes narrowed. And she was, for the first time, a little afraid of Chris Redfield. Gone was his good humor and his laughter. Gone was his jokes and his easy going nature. He'd come back from being committed for 48 hours and been another man.

Driven. Dedicated. He went at the bioterror world with a vengeance that earned him the nickname The Wrath of God. He thundered. He destroyed. He was the Human Tank, yes, and worse. Because Chris Redfield had once had a stopping point. A place where he would yield. A place where he would never go.

The Wrath of God knew no bounds.

With Leon Kennedy beside him, he'd scorched the earth with righteous fire on a campaign of revenge and redemption. They leveled compounds and left no man behind. Normally a man given to offering sanctuary to those willing to turn against the dark, he offered no quarter now.

He stood in the fire filled, rain-slick night and put a bullet in the face of the fearful while they begged for their lives.

Rebecca was never surprised to hear of Leon Kennedy's assaults. He was KNOWN to go in guns blazing and toss a match on the gasoline left behind. But Chris had always been level headed about it. Practical. Tactical. The calm wind to Jill Valentine's blazing fire. Without Jill, he'd morphed. He'd melted. He'd become smoke and fire and fear.

The video feed from his last mission had scared the shit out of those who'd stood around watching it on the other end. He'd kicked in a door to find a scattering of mercs playing a rousing game of poker. The intel had been sketchy at best. But it was laced with conspiracy. It was unclear what some of it meant. But it was enough to motivate him. Enough to get him moving. Because it mentioned test subjects. It mentioned Raccoon City. And that meant only one fucking person to him.

Jill.

Barry had TRIED to get ANYONE ELSE to take the mission. He'd known what it meant.

Claire had begged Leon to go with him. "Please. If he goes alone, god KNOWS what he'll do."

So, Leon had gone. Always willing to help the girl he considered to be his best friend in the world. Loyalty, when earned from Leon Kennedy, was unmatched. It was unflagging.

It was interesting to know he'd given it to Chris Redfield. They didn't even really appear to be friends. But Kennedy rode in at his side anyway like the shadow of Peter Pan waiting to lead the way to Neverland.

The table full of armed men had started shouting.

They'd started shooting.

The first one had taken a shot to the face while he'd tried to draw. Never even cleared leather. One and done.

The second popped off a shot that hit. It got Chris in the chest and thunked on armored plating. Leon put two through the man's throat and tossed him on his back for it.

It was an awful assault. Kennedy put them down with clean shots to the face or heart. Chris? He didn't. The best shot around, hands down, and he shot them in bellies and groins and shoulders. To torture. To hurt. There was no other reason.

Rebecca had stood there watching it happen. She'd prayed for Leon Kennedy to do SOMETHING. Anything. To stop it. Cruelty. It wasn't Chris Redfield. It wasn't.

But he didn't.

He stood there in the shadows like a sentinel and he didn't say a word.

Chris had put his boot on the shoulder of the last survivor that wasn't dragging and bleeding and groaning or crying on the ground. He'd kicked him to his back on the cold stone floor.

His voice had come from his mouth like the growl of a hellhound. Almost too low. Painful to the ears. It rumbled in his chest and scared her. "Start talking. Or I'll put two in your groin and blow your balls out your back."

The man held up his hands, showing himself unarmed.

Rebecca thought, horrified, Leon, put the other ones down. Give them mercy.

But he didn't.

He stood there beside Chris while the men around them died in misery and pain and without hope. The camera panned on Chris' vest enough she could see Kennedy's face. And it was empty.

Scary.

She thought: this is what happened when you spent so long fighting. You stopped feeling.

One of the dying men grabbed for a gun on the floor and Leon kicked it aside. He stepped on that reaching hand and the room was filled with high pitched squealing. She watched the handsome face of the former rookie cop look down at the bleeding man and show nothing. Nothing at all. But he lifted the gun in his hand and finished him off with a shot between the eyes.

The other man with Chris had been screaming now. Screaming. "I don't know A-ANYTHING! I DON'T KNOW!"

Chris pulled the knife in his side out and shoved it in again. The man screamed, flailed, and fought. "P-p-please! PLEASE! I can't help you! They'll kill me! THEY'LL KILL ME!"

Chris laughed.

It was so awful.

It sounded horrible. It was so bad. Rebecca had looked at Quint. He'd glanced at Mira. Mira shook her head. But she had a hand pressed against her mouth in horror.

"What the fuck do you think I'm gonna do, you idiot? Dance with you? WHERE IS JILL VALENTINE?"

The man tried to run. He jerked his body off the knife that was wedged into his gut. He gushed blood while he tried. He slipped. He fell. He grabbed for Leon Kennedy's pants in desperation. His hands slipped on his boots.

He said, "Please man. Please. I got kids. I didn't know who they were. I didn't know. But I can't help you. I can't. They'll kill my family."

Leon had looked down at him…and kicked him in the shoulder. It spilled him to his back. Chris grabbed his throat and lifted him. He pushed him into the wall and put the knife to his fluttering, frightened eye. "I'll kill your family, you fucking son of a bitch. You hear me? I'LL kill them. Worry about ME. You know why? Because that girl you're hiding? She's MINE. I'll only ask you one more time. Where is Jill Valentine?"

The man had turned his head. One last desperate push. One last try. He'd begged toward Leon. As if it would matter. "Please…help me. Please. Help my family. Help my family and I'll tell you everything. I don't know anything about any Jill Valentine. Anything. I swear. B-b-but I can tell you about lots of stuff. Lots of other stuff. I swear to GOD! Please…please please please…"

Chris pulled the knife back to shove it home again. The man screamed, high and horrible. And Leon finally moved.

He caught the wrist that drove and rolled it. He divested Chris of the knife in a single, swift move.

Chris, furious, went to hit him.

But it was blocked easily enough. And Leon shoved him back. "Get it together here, Redfield, and LISTEN to him. He's talking. He's willing to talk. Stop trying to kill the only lead we've had. Pull your head out of your ass and get it together."

So, now they had information. They knew the location of a viral stockpile and several black market weapons deals that were going down. It had been good intel. It was a good mission.

It was a nightmare.

Barry Burton and Clive O'Brien, Francesca Lighthouse, and Bev Carlson-Madeira – the four directors of the BSAA. They'd come to the office. And it hadn't been pretty. When you had all four of the big cheeses in your face, it was a BAD day.

Kennedy was untouchable, of course. So, he'd sat in the meeting while they bellowed and shouted and been bulletproof. USSTRATCOM was the black spear of the President. It didn't have a damn thing to do with the BSAA. He'd rolled the paperweight in his hand and basically smirked.

Chris?

He'd listened to them shout. He'd listened to them admonish.

Bev, with her thick Spanish accent, the head of the UN branch with Francesca beside her. Had gotten in his face. "Captain – you are so far out of line here that there isn't any way for me to be clearer on this. You WILL obey orders. You WILL follow protocols. You WILL adhere to procedure. Or we will hold you on charges of conspiracy and stick you in a cage so far down in the dark that you NEVER get free. Do you understand?"

He'd said nothing.

For a long moment, he'd said nothing. And finally, he'd hissed between his teeth, "You think you can threaten me? I helped found this fucking company, you steely balled bitch. I will drop kick you off a cliff before I let you tell me how to run it."

And Bev had drilled a finger into his chest for it. Like waving a red flag in the face of a bull.

"You've let a personal vendetta consume you, Redfield. You've lost sight of what we started here. Be careful how many bridges you burn for revenge. Once they go up in flames – you'll be stranded on the other side…alone. Don't push me. Or you'll find out just how big my balls can get."

Chris took a step into that drilling finger. She was small. Barely over five feet. Not an imposing woman by any means. But she wasn't a push over either. She didn't back up.

Leon grabbed his arm.

They held eyes.

And finally, Leon had said, "You can't save her if you're serving time from a cell. Take a walk."

Chris had felt the rage of it boil in his blood like madness.

And Leon had said again, quietly, "Take a walk, Chris. For Jill."

He'd done it. Because Kennedy DESERVED it. He'd never questioned. Never declined. He'd ridden the horses from hell into the fire beside Chris without asking for a damn thing.

He was asking in that moment.

So, Chris did it.

Chris did nothing but eat, sleep, and fight. He beat up the world with his fists. He took down anything in his way. But it wasn't enough.

He lay awake at night and remembered it. It was all he ever saw. Jill – out the window. Jill – in the rain. Jill – in the river. And Wesker – fighting and fighting and MOVING. Like a monster. Like a thing that never stops. Inhuman.

How could he fight him? How could he stop him?

And then he knew.

He KNEW the answer.

Rebecca Chambers.

She said it again, worried, "I don't want to."

Chris turned his gaze to Quint. Who shifted…and farted. "…sorry. Nervous."

Rebecca stepped away, hand to her nose.

Quint said, "Listen…Cap…I get where you're comin from. Seriously. I read the reports. I get it. But what good could this possibly do? The side effects…you sure it's worth the results?"

Chris studied the vial on the table. The Hercules Complex. A funny little nickname given to it by Quint and Rebecca and Joel. They'd created it over months of experimentation and trial and error. It was still in testing. It was conceived, primarily, to be a TEMPORARY boost when facing off against B.O.W.S. It was NOT MEANT for long-term use. It hadn't even been tested on those parameters. Ever.

Rebecca said, "It's proteins and compounds and peptide hormones. It's not roids, Chris. Not exactly. But it may manifest some side effects like it. And it's core component?"

She gestured to the computer screen. It was all stupid science crap. Chris lifted a brow.

"I've stripped the T-Virus down, Chris. It's…how to explain it…The full T-Virus genome is encoded on one long strand of RNA." She shifted to the computer and pulled up a double helix. It rotated in colorful strands. "This is the form it has when it is a free virus particle. When the virus is integrated into the host's DNA genome, as a provirus, then its information too is subsequently encoded in DNA. The T-Virus works the same, essentially, as any other genetic modifying virus. I've stripped the long terminal repeat from the virus."

He was probably looking at her like she was missing part of her head. But he was trying to get it.

Quint offered, "At each end of the string is the same sequence of code. Almost like the repeat at the start and finish of these sentence. Like…sticky ends in a way. A doorway kind. Which the integrase protein uses to insert the T-Virus genome into host DNA."

He felt like his eyes MIGHT be crossing. Chris shook his head. "English, Dr. Jekyll and Ms. Hyde. Please."

Taking pity on him, Rebecca said, "The sticky tips? They act as promoter or enhancers – when integrated into the host genome, they influence the cell machinery which transcribes DNA, to alter the amount of transcription which occurs. Protein binding sites in the LTR are involved with RNA initiation. I've removed those…which…allows the T-Virus to act as a base for the enhancement of the Hercules Complex without risk of infection or mutation."

Quint eyed him. "Sorry to blow your noodle here, Cap, but she's saying you'd be shooting yourself up with the dumbed down version of the Tyrant Virus. Like…Blade or something. You won't turn into a zombie…but you may exhibit other side effects."

Chris tilted his head, curious. "Like what?"

"Rage. Uh…sexual appetite?"

Rebecca nodded a little. "Maybe. Maybe not. Physically – sir…yo—"

Chris laughed a little. "Cut the SIR shit, Rebecca. I'll barf. Just lay out for me."

"Right. Physically, it will feel like adrenaline that doesn't stop. It will promote muscle enhancement. It will make you stronger, faster, and more alert. That was the whole point. To give you a TEMPORARY boost to fight Biological Weapons, Chris. Not to work like blood doping. It's not designed for that."

Chris held her look. "'Does it work?"

Quint and Rebecca eyed each other. They both shifted where they stood.

He asked again, "Damnit, answer me. Does it work?"

Quint sighed a little. "Yeah. It works. Leon Kennedy let us test it on him when you guys took down that lab in Finland."

Naturally.

The little SHIT. No wonder he'd been unstoppable. Chris snorted out a laugh. "Then stop trying to get me to wise up and give it to me."

Rebecca held his eyes. "Long-term use could make you feel less…human, Chris. More like a machine."

He glanced at the little picture in the silver frame on her desk. It was them. Laughing and throwing bunny ears. It was JILL kissing Rebecca's cheek and giving the finger.

Rebecca watched his face. His thumb stroked the picture. And her heart broke for him.

He set down the picture with a small clunk of sound. Quint was looking at him with sympathy now. Chris gave them cold eyes.

"A machine?"

"A machine," Rebecca affirmed, so softly. "Maybe. Maybe a machine."

And maybe a machine….could fight a monster.

So, he commanded, calmly, "Good. Do it."

She picked up the syringe. She gave him sad eyes. He didn't want the sad. Quint grabbed his arms to hold him still. And there was pity on his face. And Chris didn't want the fucking pity either.

He looked at that little picture while Rebecca Chambers reared back—and stabbed him right in the heart.

And he waited, to become a machine.

On November 23rd, 2007, Jill Valentine came back from the dead.

She awoke, once more, in the sterile chamber that had become her home. The machines to her right were beeping loudly. She rolled over to look at her vitals.

Sp02 – 100% - Which meant, of course, her oxygen saturation was at maximum levels.

Her blood pressure was 110/75 which was totally normal for someone as athletic as she was. And so was her heart rate which was, at rest, 45 beats per minute. It just meant she was in peak physical condition.

She looked at her heart rate. It passed like a jagged line on the screen before. There was the p-wave, the QRS complex, and the t-wave that followed. Normal sinus rhythm. The little strip that had pushed out the bottom of the machine said she'd had several episodes of sinus arrhythmia – so she'd clearly been trying to regulate her own rate and rhythm.

But she was alive now. Alive.

And still in Wesker's control.

The room door whooshed and Ferguson came hurrying in. He held a little silver tray with several plungers on it. Jill sat up and the little hospital gown gaped, showing pale breasts and pretty pale skin.

Ferguson gulped, watching the spill of her icy blonde hair around her. It was nearly to her hips now, left long and lush by Wesker's command. It was unclear why he wanted it so long. Perhaps – it was simply another form of control. He often grabbed it and jerked to conquer her.

She eyed the little lab rat as she hitched up his huge glasses and gummed his lips with that weird nervous tic of his. It reminded her of a baby popping its lips.

He grabbed one of the plungers and turned to her.

Was he kidding here?

Surely, he did NOT think she was going to sit here while he shot her full of shit. It was nearly comic.

She grabbed the hand an inch from her bicep. He squeaked, "It's vitamins! I swear! Just vitamins!"

"…yeah. No thanks." She shoved his arm away.

And she realized he'd left the door of her cell open.

He'd left it OPEN.

Jill rolled up. Her legs scissored. She kicked the little lab rat and threw him back. He yelped and fell with a clatter of the tray.

Jill rolled off the bed and grabbed one of the plungers from the floor. She kicked Ferguson in the face as he started to rise and he went down, out for the count. She grabbed the other plunger and ran for the door.

The long hallway was familiar. It curved at the end and emptied to the elevator. Jill paced quietly, watching for anything that would stop her. The elevator doors pinged and she leaped on, breathing harsh and fast.

Her heart was hammering.

The elevator rose – ticking off numbers. It seemed to take forever.

It was a handful of minutes.

And they opened.

She was on the ground level now. It was a moment of horrible, awful, terrible déjà vu. Where was this?! Where was she? It felt like the Spencer Estate but not. It had a balcony and a wide open foyer filled with torches that flickered and threw shadows on the cold stone. There was a dual staircase inviting her to run up it and another elevator that waited there beside a long hallway.

Jill hit the stairs at a run. She didn't pause, didn't stop, and didn't think.

She hit the button for the elevator.

She was going to get away. She was going to get away.

She was going to GET AWAY.

The doors slid open and she turned to get on it.

And Albert Wesker was there. He wasn't alone. He had Excella with him. Excella looked shocked to see her. Wesker? He looked amused.

He mused, low and cold, "Going somewhere, Jill?"

She considered it. She considered it all.

And she threw caution to the wind. She took her chance. She gave a battle cry that would have made Chris proud and launched herself into the elevator car.

Excella shouted in surprise.

But Wesker? Nothing.

Jill hit him full body – knocking him into the wall behind him. And she shoved the plunger into his chest.

Excella cried out in rage and tried to slap her away.

Stupid woman. She hit like a GIRL.

Jill channeled Chris again. She turned toward those slapping hands. She turned punched her right in the face.

The blow threw Excella back. She let out a gasping cry. She covered her face with her hands and cowered.

Yeah. STUPID GIRL.

Jill felt Wesker shift against the wall. She kicked him in the hip. He staggered. She turned and ran off the elevator.

He shouted as she fled, "We had a DEAL, Jill! Have you forgotten?! Did you think to kill me with Vitamin B!?"

And he was laughing.

The bastard.

Jill hit the long hallway. She ran down it. She ran until she was out of breath. Sarcophagi were everywhere. Stone shells with long dead in them. It was some kind of mausoleum. What the fuck? Wesker: Crypt Keeper.

She dove into one chamber and ducked behind a wall. She could HEAR him coming for her. He was just walking along. Just meandering. And then?

He started to whistle.

Some awful tune.

Something terrible.

It was like being stalked by Jason Voorhees.

He called, "Come out, Jill. I'll only ask once. Just once. I have apologized to Excella. You will go back to your room. You will not run again. We have a bargain, Jill. Shall I break it?"

Jill shifted, considering. She looked down at what was in her hand. What was it? It was yellow. More vitamins? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe THIS one was something could kill him.

She had to get him to let her close enough.

And his voice came again, "What is your answer, Jill? Do you unkiss our bargain? Consider carefully before you answer."

Jill stepped out into the hallway. Just like that.

She said, "I'm sorry. I panicked. I woke up in that fucking room. You tried to kill me the last time I saw you. Tends to make a girl panic."

He studied her down the long hallway, in the flickering torchlight.

"Come here."'

It rankled to do it. It physically hurt her.

But she went.

And when she was close enough…he took her face in his hands. He turned it up to the light. He studied it in the encroaching torches. He turned it back and forth a little. "You are well? Mended?"

She froze a little, watching his face. What was that on his face? What was he asking here?

She said, softly, "I'm fine. All fixed up. Good to go."

He nodded and the fire reflected in those glasses. "Good. I regret…our last encounter."

…wait what?

What?

What game was this?

She studied his face. He was a fucking monster though. So it wasn't like she was going to see angst on his face. Or love. Or regret. Or anything.

But she kept staring at him anyway. "…thank you."

That seemed like a safe response. Sure. Thank you. Nothing wrong with being nice. To the guy who'd killed you…twice. The guy who'd brought you back…twice. The guy who'd spent years manipulating and using and lying and hurting you. Why not? Ms. Manners didn't have a class on how best to handle that.

So, polite it was.

Besides, she needed him off the offensive here. So, playing quiet and soft couldn't hurt.

He nodded a little. "You will not taunt me again. Do you understand?"

She wanted to scoff. Instead, she said, "Sure. I'll be a good girl."

He smirked a little and she knew he didn't believe her. Couldn't blame him really. She was lying through her teeth.

Wesker intoned, "Come apologize to Excella. It will make things easier."

Jill tugged her face free of him. "No way. That bitch. I'm not saying boo to her."

Wesker gave her a long look.

"What? She's rude. And a cunt to boot. She had me sweep and mop her damn floor, wash her linens, and clean her bathtub last time she was here. Like a slave. Or a servant. Who in the hell is she anyway, Wesker? You don't need that bitch. And since when do you pander to some big tittied princess with a bad accent?"

"Excella is a necessary part of my plan, Jill. It would cost nothing for you to pander to her. For a short while. She is...volatile. But controllable. It would please me if you would...soften. In your approach to her."

He was being so fucking polite. It was unnerving.

"I'm not some fucking servant. I'm not. I agreed not to run. I didn't agree to wash your girlfriend's underwear by hand. No. Forget it. And you can throw me into all the mirrors you want. You can't make me coo at her, Wesker."

In hindsight, maybe that was a poor choice of words.

He reached around her back and jerked her arm up. It stole her breath. It forced her in against his body. She gasped with the pain of it. He dropped his mouth and put it over hers, speaking low and quiet. "I have been gentle. I have been accepting. You attempted to flee. You broke your promise. I should punish you."

Jill shook her head, just a little. She spoke so softly. And their lips kept brushing when she did. "What will you do? Kill me? You've already done that."

And he replied, so quietly, "You will do whatever I want, Jill. Anything. Shall I prove it to you?"

He moved. He jerked the hand still holding the syringe. She gasped, struggling now. She jerked and he said, "Be still, Jill. Or I will break your arm."

Jesus.

She went still.

Wesker mused, "You are stubborn. I can respect it. But it is futile. I will pull you with me while you fight, Jill. If that is your choice...or..."

His free hand shifted. It stroked her throat with his thumb, smooth and soft. "You could come willingly. Serve me. Stand beside me. Offer me your loyalty. And I will let you put an end to Excella Gionne when she is of no use to me. I will let you stand with me in the new world. I will show you what happens when there is no more pain. No more love to break you or hurt you or leave you raw. Just power, Jill. The kind that gives you everything…and never ends."

Her heart was hammering. She was frozen there in his arms. And her heart was hammering like she'd run a marathon.

She whispered, quietly, "What comes with that kind of power?"

And his answer…scared her to death. And thrilled her in a way that made her swallow a lump of fear and dirty, dark, desperate greed.

"Freedom…and me."

What if she said yes? What if she agreed? At his right hand, she'd be free from that cage. She'd be able to stay close to him, study him, learn him. She'd be able to STOP him from whatever plan he kept spouting on about.

What price was she willing to pay to protect the world?

Wouldn't Chris pay it? Wouldn't he stand there and pay it? No matter the outcome?

Chris would play Wesker's right-hand man. He'd do it.

If it stopped his madness from hurting a single soul.

It was the moment Jill knew…she was going to agree. She was going to say yes. Because sometimes you had to play with the devil to save the world. That's just what you had to do.

When you were the hero.

She felt her soul shudder. Her skin prickled. And she lifted her hand that wasn't bound behind her back.

She trembled. She slid it over the side of his face. She aligned her thumb beside his ear. And she kept her eyes OPEN…when she pressed her mouth to his to kiss him.

She was standing there, kissing Albert Wesker. The Devil. The Serpent. THE TYRANT.

Jesus.

The betrayal of it. The pain of it. Swirled in her guts and killed her where she stood. She slid her tongue into his mouth. He made some kind of grunt…and moved.

His arm crossed hard against her back. He lifted her off her feet to press her body into his. He was so tall. Her feet dangled.

And he kissed her.

Although, it was an odd word. A wrong word. Not quite right.

He spilled his tongue and his need into her mouth and tried to kill her where she dangled. She couldn't stop the shaking. She tried. But she couldn't stop it.

The tyrant had a commanding kiss. It was not a kiss from a god. It was a kiss from a man. Under it all, he was JUST A MAN. She had to remember that. Couldn't forget it. He was just a man.

And she'd been playing men to her advantage all her life.

She closed her eyes, feeling the twin pulls of regret and power. They smashed into her and came out of her mouth on a small mewl of need.

She let the pull of the body over come her. His kiss wasn't a mastermind. It wasn't a monster. His kiss was just a man. A man. And she was starving for a connection. Her body told her it was starving to FEEL something besides pain and regret.

So she let the Devil kiss her. And she made a small sound of need. The kiss spilled from commanding to soft. It was wet and slow. It was raw and real. And a lie.

It was all a lie.

Because when she opened her eyes again, she wasn't looking into the face of the Devil.

She was looking into the face of Chris Redfield.

And she kissed him like she was dying for him.

Her world fractured and spilled red at the edges. Because it wasn't him. It wasn't him there. Or her anymore. Not really. It was Albert Wesker.

Wesker.

And it was just the beginning of her dance with the devil. Just the first step. The first tango. The first waltz. And there was no Chris Redfield there to stop her.

She broke away his needy mouth. Her heart was racing so hard. She shifted, and she could feel his. She could feel it.

It surprised her.

Did she think he wouldn't have one?

Maybe.

Maybe she had.

Maybe she didn't think demons had hearts.

She gasped a little, shaking in his arms. "If…If I agree. I won't serve her. NOT HER." And it killed her to say it.

It killed her to feel it.

But Chris would have done it. For her. For anyone. For everyone. Maybe this was how she honored him. Maybe this was how she finally set it right.

She played with the devil.

And played to win.

Wesker set her down on her feet. She slid against his body. And it made her shake. It made her legs tremble. It made her belly cramp.

His hand cupped her face and turned it up to him. His thumb traced her swollen lips. He smiled and it chilled her. He said, "You will do whatever I command, Jill. That is what it means to serve me."

"I don't take orders very well, Wesker. You know that. You can't offer me the world and tell me how to exist in it. That's now how it works. Get rid of the bitch, and we'll talk."

He pulled her to her tiptoes. Her hands grabbed his biceps. She trembled, but she didn't look away.

And he intoned, "Pander to her, Jill. For a little longer. Because I require it. And because pleasing me, pleases you."

Jill shook her head, shaking. "Not her. You can't make me a serving maid to your girlfriend. That's not serving beside you, Wesker. It's being a doormat. I won't do it."

"Jill…until I am done with Excella, I simply ask you to offer her courtesy. And perhaps...not punch her in the face."

She blinked at him. He was deadpan. Or dead faced? He was something. She wanted to say he was almost amused?

Proud?

Something.

"...fine."

He sighed. He pressed a soft kiss to her mouth. She tried so hard not to pull away…but she did…just a fraction.

And he knew it.

And Wesker let go of her.

She stumbled a little.

But she followed him out there where Excella stood.

She was dabbing makeup on her swollen cheekbone. The rage on her was palpable.

She stalked toward them.

And she moved like she'd slap Jill in the face.

Jill shifted. Wesker shifted. His hand caught that slender wrist an inch from her face. He shifted her away.

"She is still raw, Excella. As is any new creation. She will be controlled. There is no need for that."

Excella huffed out a breath. She eyed them. She glanced down at the injection still in his hand.

And her eyes narrowed. "You didn't give it to her! You didn't give her the compound. Albert, how can you control her if you don't use it?"

What was this? What compound?

Excella jerked the needle out of his hand. She pointed at him. "I need data, Albert. You know this. We need to test it, market it, sell it. You agreed she was an ideal subject."

Wesker smiled and it looked odd on his face. "I did. And she is. But is still fresh from stasis. Perhaps a little more time for her to...prepare herself."

Excella snorted a little. "I want to know the effects, Albert. I want to know how it does from a weapon standpoint. She is capable?"

"More than. She is the best I've ever trained."

Jesus.

A compliment from the devil.

Horrifying.

"I need to see it. The BSAA is sniffing around one of my stockpiles in the Congo. Send her. Have her destroy them. We'll see if she's worth the time it took you to teach her."

Oh god.

Jill froze. She hadn't thought about this. Hadn't considered it.

He could send her out like a weapon. Like a sword or a knife…or a Terminator. A machine. A monster.

What had she agreed to?

Wesker shifted his gaze to her. It was hidden in those glasses. But Jill felt like he was sending her a clear enough message.

Jill said, "You don't command me. I don't answer to you."

Excella puffed up her chest. She gave Jill narrow eyes. "This is your perfect soldier, Albert? She is failing you."

Wesker shook his head. "She is new. I will mold her. Jill, return to your room. Await your orders there."

Ugh.

Jill gnashed her teeth a little. She turned and followed him as he moved toward the edge of the room.

Excella called after her. "You are a test subject, girl. Nothing more. Do not let that go to your head."

Jill turned back to face her. "Don't you worry. I'm aware. Painfully aware."

Excella tilted her head. Wesker was speaking to Ferguson now. He was setting up men to handle the mission to the Congo for Excella's stockpile.

In hindsight, Jill might have seen it coming if she wasn't picturing punching Excella Gionne in her stupid face.

Excella said, "I disagree with Albert, I'm afraid. I think you're more than ready to serve your purpose...stupid little guinea pig."

Jill laughed and turned away, moving toward the far door. She felt the hands in her hair, jerking. She shouted; Excella laughed. Wesker turned back from the door.

And it all went to hell.

Jill opened her mouth and Excella shoved the plunger into her neck.

Jill jerked. Jill gasped. Wesker was there so fast. Too fast. He jerked Excella back by the arm.

"What have you done?"

"What we talked about, my darling. Testing our drug. To help build your world."

Jill spilled forward. Wesker actually caught her against him.

He tilted her face up, watching her like a hawk.

He said, quietly. And it sounded so fucking scary it made the blood go cold. "Excella - I told you she wasn't prepared. Her system is still in flux from the stasis chamber. If you kill her trying to dominate her...you will have lost us the only subject we have with antibodies to the T-Virus. There can be NO NEW WORLD WITHOUT HER."

Whatever was in it hit Jill's system like a punch. It stole her breath. It rolled her eyes back in her head. She jerked in his arms and went still, dangling.

Her heart kicked up so hard and fast she was afraid it was going to kill her where she stood.

Excella purred, "She is fine, my love. She is ready. Jill - you will go and destroy the evidence in the Congo. You will protect our interests."

Horror burst inside of her brain. She tried again to say no. And nothing. No words at all. This time? Nothing.

Like a puppet pulled on strings, she dangled in his arms. She couldn't do anything. She stared at him, rapt. Waiting.

Empty.

Excella said, "Albert...we have to know. And it's done now. Should we let the data go to waste?"

Frozen in his arms, she SAW it. Excella was behind him. But Jill? She was RIGHT THERE. The tyrant hated the bitch behind him. It slid across his face and was gone. But it was there.

Excella said, "Jill - you want to serve, don't you?"

And Jill's voice said, "Yes."

It sounded mechanical. It echoed in a weird way. Like she was a robot.

A machine.

Wesker said, so quietly, "Do not try my patience, Excella. Ever again. I will not risk my research for your petty jealousy."

"I am sorry, Albert, darling." She didn't sound sorry AT ALL. "Let me make it up to you. Send her to the Congo, pretty please, there is a SURPRISE there."

Wesker and Jill just kept staring at each other. She couldn't move. She was frozen. She was trapped.

He'd found a way to control her. TO CONTROL her. Mind control. What kind of fucking shit was he playing with here? This couldn't be the worst of it. There had to be more. More.

And she knew, she KNEW, she had to play the game now. She had to. Because if he could do THIS, God knew what else he could do.

And so, it wasn't Chris Redfield between Wesker and the world. It was Jill Valentine. The unlikely hero. The savior. Trapped in a shell under his command.

The horror spilled through her. But it wouldn't come out. It wouldn't do anything but roll in her head and stick there. Because her body was no longer hers to control.

The Democratic Republic of the Congo - Rainforest Basin - 2007

The long dark spilled around them.

The small compound was nicely buried under moss and vines and ivy. It was warm and damp. It was always the rainy season, but it was simply moist now and waiting for the rain to come again. The rainforest shimmered, sending the call of a hero high into the humid sky.

The Congo Basin was characterized by dense rainforest. Broad-leaved trees, such as African oak, red cedar, and mahogany, formed a dense upper canopy high above their booted feet that trod amongst the slippery mud.

The weather was wet tits and wet pits. It was sweaty and sticky. It wasn't for the faint of heart.

The central source of moisture came in from the Ubangi river that bordered the lush natural pharmacy. Nearly a quarter of the world's natural medicines could be found in the heart of the rainforest. Lianas and ficus shot through the dark and curled up toward the small breaks in the canopy above them. The thick foliage allowed less then 1% of natural light between her pretty leaves, meaning most of the strangler figs had to climb in order to survive.

The forest floor was comprised of mostly mud and decomposing leaves. Somewhere in the long dark, giant mountain gorillas were making their home. It was entirely possible that Tarzan was swinging through the trees somewhere out there as well.

Chris stood outside in the warm breeze while his team cleared the compound. He'd brought four men with him. Each with a decent set of skills. Each handpicked to serve the cause…by Jill Valentine.

"Sir?"

The cigarette in his lips flared orange as he turned to the voice.

Mira's face was obscured by the heavy shadow. It was full illumination tonight based on the astrological report he'd read before heading out. But the moon's face was lost above the canopy. The only light now was what came from their ear pieces.

Clearly, Mira was not a man. But she was. To him, she was. All of his team were his men.

It was that simple.

And Mira appreciated his lack of interest in separating sexes.

"Lopez and Cruise are clearing the final bunker. It looks good, Captain. Really good. We've found crates of chemicals and bioorganic agents. Somebody knew the rainforest was an excellent place to cultivate a natural weapon base. Your mole really came through on this one."

He nodded, turned back to look out into the heavy darkness. His ear light bobbled, throwing a tiny stream of color into the endless shadow. Mira watched him, considering.

When she'd met him, that first day in Terragrigia. He'd been enigmatic. A big man, without question, all muscle and good humor. He'd had a beard, an excellent sense of comedic timing, and a drive to save the world. He'd also had eyes only for the woman Mira had come to love as a sister.

She'd never in life had a man look at her the way Chris Redfield looked at Jill.

Like she was everything and anything and the answer to the universe. Like maybe the sun set out of her ass. In the interview, she'd been intensely aware of the power between them.

They'd been so professional. So polite. Friendly and charming and direct. Good questions, clear head, incredible compliments. They'd both put her at ease.

And if she wouldn't have had the best eyes in the business, she'd have missed the one moment they let that professional façade slip. Just a fraction of a moment. Almost like breathing or burping or farting. Natural instinct.

They'd both reached for her file at the same time while she told a long-winded story to them about Leon Kennedy, a jar of pickles, and three dead insurgents. Redfield reached the file first. Valentine a moment behind.

And their pinkies had brushed.

Nothing.

A simple thing. No big deal.

But his? His had slid over hers. And curled.

Just once.

Just a little.

Nothing.

And everything.

When Jill had settled back beside him on the couch, holding the file and talking so casually. Her foot had shifted over, just a little. Just a bit. And brushed his.

Nothing.

A simple thing. No big deal.

But her toes had rubbed his ankle. Just a little bit.

Nothing.

And everything.

Mira would have bet every dollar she ever made that the second she'd left, they'd been fucking like bunnies. She considered it now, watching him in the dark. He was still enigmatic.

Maybe even more so.

Because there was a hardness to him now. A shift in that face. A set of lines beside his eyes. A little bit of salt in the pepper of his hair.

In the year and a half since Jill Valentine had gone missing, he'd morphed from a charismatic boy next door to a battle-scarred warrior. He muscles on muscles on muscles, which…was like looking at sex with a beard. But his dedication was legion.

He rose at dawn. He kicked ass. He didn't even seem to sleep.

He'd been big when she'd met him. Clearly, the type of body that could hold the muscle without looking ridiculous. He had, possibly, the broadest shoulders Mira had ever seen. Now?

He was massive.

The muscle on muscle on muscle was insane. He was brick shithouse big. He was – arm as big as your waist – big. He was thighs that could crush a man big. Standing next to him, she felt small and feminine and skinny.

She wasn't sure what had changed. But something had. Because he'd traded the good humor for muscles made to pick up a Buick and throw it. He'd put on muscle like a mammoth in the months since he'd started to training sun up to sun down.

And it was a rare woman that didn't look at him...and covet a little. It didn't help AT ALL that Mira liked him rude and cold and distant. She'd heard the stories about him and the spy. The big mouth bitch Jessica had spilled the beans plenty to someone. Because the whole world knew about the two of them fucking like crazy.

And maybe Mira liked playing with fire...just a little.

Mira shifted a little where she stood. She wondered if Jill was somewhere judging her. Stop looking at my man, bitch! The idea made Mira chuckle. Because Jill had never, ever, been possessive or jealous or weird. She wasn't even sure they were together. They didn't act together. Not since they'd come back from the Queen Dido.

And things had been...weird.

Chris was painfully professional.

He didn't even act like he liked girls let alone was screwing any.

Maybe they'd had been over long before Jill had died. Maybe they'd simply been a constant "what if" that had never really happened. Maybe he was mourning her because she was the one that got away.

Mira stepped up beside him. She eyed him again in the semi-darkness. "Sir, I need to break protocol for a moment."

Chris turned his head down to her, sending curls of smoke into the air. "Alright."

"I'd like to say, first, that I resp—"

And so much for hitting on her boss. Nope.

Because the long dark exploded around them.

There was a WHOOSH of sound. A pop of tree limbs.

And the building where Lopez and Cruise had just exited went up in flames. Chris shouted. Mira drew down. Lopez and Cruise were coming toward them.

They'd never get there.

Because something dropped out of the trees above them.

It was a cape and a mask and darkness. It spun and kicked Lopez in the face. He went up and out, lost in the trees. Cruise grabbed the man and the caped crusader grabbed his arm, twisted it, rolled the shoulder and dropped. The bone popped wetly.

He screamed.

Somewhere, a bird cawed angrily.

Mira raised her gun to fire and the masked man threw Cruise at her. They hit and went to the ground in a sliding heap. The fire behind them flickering in the pitch black sky. It left their attack in sharp relief.

He wore some kind of battlesuit. It was hard to tell the color in the orange light. But when "he" shifted, Mira realized HE was a SHE. Because the masked man had boobs.

Mira tried to get to her feet. But Cruise was unconscious atop her. She shifted instead, inching toward her fallen pistol.

Chris stepped into the firelight. It echoed on his face in tongues of yellow and white. Mira stopped scooting, frozen there. Because he didn't have a cigarette in his hand anymore.

He had some kind of needle.

The masked woman stopped, tilted her head in that beaked metal face shield she wore. The cloak she wore covered her hair. Her voice came out, tinny and mechanical. "You cannot win. Relent. Surrender. And I will leave you alive."

He put the needle in his mouth and pulled off the cover. He spit the plastic cap into the boggy ground. The masked woman intoned, woodenly, "You cannot stop me with drugs. I am not as you are."

And Chris Redfield said, "Funny. Neither am I."

He didn't stab the masked woman. He drove the needle into himself. He hit the plunger and his body jerked a little.

Mira started crawling for her gun again.

What was this shit? Roids? Maybe that explained the muscles.

While the building burned, the masked figure engaged Chris Redfield in mortal combat.

Inside the mask, Jill Valentine was screaming.

Outside, her body was flawless. The P30 offered her superhuman strength. It gave her reflexes that were unmatched, unparalleled. And unstoppable.

The firelight spilled around them as they battled. Chris should never have been that fast. He should never have been that smooth. In her head, she was AWARE. But she could do nothing.

She kicked him. She punched him. She rolled him. He drove her back, he caught her, he threw her. He ducked and pivoted. He punched her while she looped her thigh and knee over his face and tossed him away.

It hurt.

Her body said: THAT'S what it feels like to get hit by those fists.

In her ear, she could hear Wesker's voice, "Excella knew. She knew who would be there raiding the compound. She knows of my distaste for him. She wanted to please me and punish you, Jill for your disobedience." His voice. It scared her to death. It was full of some kind of cold that froze the flesh and killed the soul, "I will deal with her. Finish the mission. Leave Redfield alive."

Chris swung at her, she ducked low and her body caught him around his huge chest and shoved. He hit the tree behind him and sprung off it, tackling her fast and hard. She took it, spun, and dropped her elbow into his back. He released her, she rolled over him, and swept his feet from him.

He went to his back and Jill straddled him. She put her knife to his throat in the swirling firelight.

Wesker's voice came again. Low and taunting. "Do you see this moment, Jill? Do you feel it? THIS is the power I offer you. The power to control the world. The power…to spare Chris Redfield."

Jill was SCREAMING. In her head, she was screaming. The cage of her flesh contained her. The pull of her heart commanded her. She pressed the blade into his neck and bled him.

And the animal inside of her body CRAVED it.

And his command surprised her. "Incapacitate Chris Redfield."

Jill drove her knife into him. She drove it through the vest that tried to stop her. She reared back and drove it through plating and Kevlar and muscle and bone. And it burst out his back to pin him there in the mud like a bug on a board.

He roared. She rose.

And she turned to finish the mission.

Mira was finally free from struggling beneath Cruise. She grabbed her gun. She rolled.

And the masked woman put one booted foot down on her chest. It was CRUSHING. It was horrible. Mira screamed. She struggled.

Behind them, Chris shouted, "MIRA!"

And she screamed his name.

She screamed it while the masked woman tried to crush her beneath that heeled boot from hell. She screamed his name.

Chris.

His name echoed through the trees.

Something happened. Something shifted. The drug shuddered under the emotion. It wavered. Jill staggered. She put a hand to her head. She screamed in pain as the vice grips of pain tried to grind her skull and brain into mush and dust.

From their safe haven, Excella whispered, "She's resisting. She's resisting! How!?"

And Wesker said, "….Redfield." He hissed it. So soft. Filled with such horrible hate. Filled with something made Excella twitch.

She'd done him a favor. A GIFT. Why didn't he order the toy to KILL REDFIELD!?

She fumed.

Jill stumbled. She spilled to one knee. She crawled.

Her hands slid over the bloody knife in him. She shifted and straddled him. She could feel the drug ROARING in her blood. She grabbed his face with one bloody hand, the other grabbed the hilt of the knife.

And Wesker's voice broke through the madness. So, dark, so hard, so commanding. "If you reveal yourself, I will have to have him killed. There are thirty men in the trees around you. I cannot let you reveal yourself, Jill. Remember our bargain. Come back to me."

Oh, god. Oh god.

Jill fell in against his chest. He was frozen there on the forest floor. He lifted his gloves hand to grab her arms. She felt her soul try to leech on to him and hold. She put her mouth beside his ear. Her hand tightened on the knife.

She whispered, so softly, "Don't fight. Don't fight anymore. Please. Don't fight…RUN…"

And jerked the knife out of him.

The pain brought his mouth open in a scream. Blood flew in a red arc. It hit the fire and sizzled. It sparked.

She rolled off him, crawling. She got to her feet.

He tried to get his gun. He lunged for it. She kicked it from his hands. She grabbed his throat.

"NO! Stop fighting! You will bleed out an die, you FOOL. Stop fighting…stop fighting…and run…"

He swung at her. The idiot. The fool. He swung at her.

Jill knocked his arm away. She threw him to his face. She dragged him over the boggy ground and threw his back against a tree. She left him sitting. He was bleeding everywhere. He tried to hit her again. She grabbed his arm and shoved it away.

She crouched over him.

He didn't understand. She wasn't killing him. She wasn't even hurting him anymore. He didn't understand what was happening here.

He struggled, it made him bleed faster and wetter. She slapped his own hands over his stomach. And pressed. "You will bleed out. Do you understand? STOP FIGHTING. You can choose to pursue me. You can. You will die in the dark in your own blood. This wound is not mortal. If you keep pressure on it, you will SURVIVE it. If you wait for evacuation. STOP FIGHTING."

He'd never come up against an enemy that tried to kill him and now was trying to save his life.

The cold metal nose of that mask brushed his. His eyes shifted in the firelight to the mouth beneath it. And that tinny voice whispered, brokenly, "No more fighting…Chris…"

Her hand touched his mouth. He couldn't seem to move now. He was frozen there in the firelight, watching her. She leaned down and pressed that mouth to his. The cold beak touched his cheek.

And he was frozen there. Frozen. When the world roared with heat and flame. Frozen.

And because things weren't insane enough. As if the world made less sense then a dream. His mouth shifted and pressed back against hers.

She leaned back. He tried to see her eyes in the firelight.

The hood on the masked woman's head flickered in the wind. He could see just a glimpse of blonde. Just a little.

He whispered, "…who are you?"

And she said, so softly, "Do not look for me. Go home, Chris Redfield. Go home. The world needs Chris Redfield."

Wesker's voice said, "Say nothing else. NOTHING ELSE. Return to me, now Jill. NOW. Or they will come for you. They will kill him. Protect him. OBEY."

Jill staggered to her feet. She grabbed Mira from the ground. She lifted her by her throat. And her mechanical voice said, "…protect him. PROTECT HIM."

Mira gasped, gagging, "Who ARE you!?"

Jill dropped her to the floor.

She staggered.

And she ran.

She ran through the long dark.

She could hear him shouting behind her. She could hear him moving.

The men came from the trees to get her. She didn't fight. She sank to her knees in the boggy leaves. She touched her mouth. And the tears gathered behind the mask.

They shouted for her to surrender. She rubbed the taste of him one more time over her lips.

She put her arms out to the side and hunched down. She bowed her head and spread her arms wide like an offering. She let them take her.

She'd saved him.

She wasn't a machine. She wasn't a puppet. She was JILL VALENTINE.

As long as he remained. As long as the world had Chris Redfield…it had Jill Valentine. She offered herself up to their grasping hands. She gave up.

As Chris screamed into the burning night behind her.


	26. Chapter 26

XXVI: The Locket, The Lies, The Love that Burns

:::::::::::::Twenty-Six::::::::::

Wesker must have sensed the game had shifted. Because he'd been…different. Since she'd come back. He must have known it had pushed too far. Too fast.

He was careful about playing the game with Excella now. Careful about playing with Jill.

The P30 sat in a little case in his office. It sat there. And it didn't come out again.

He didn't want her empty. He wanted her to WANT to serve him. He'd been almost indulging to her since that night.

Whatever he said to Excella, the bitch backed off. She was almost painfully polite if they crossed paths now. In deference to what had clearly been something he'd said to the other woman to sedate her stupid girl jealousy, Jill eased back on her guns.

She felt, sometimes, that he was almost sorry for it. Which was wrong, obviously. But it still shivered there as maybe…possibly…being kinda true. She could spend the rest of her life trying to figure him and out failing.

Jill played nice. Because she couldn't do anything else.

One afternoon, Wesker found Jill in the long hallway. She was sitting on the bench. She was in the Monarch room. Which was clearly where he went to "rule". She didn't know where she was. It was a cave. It was a cavern. It was somewhere cold and where she'd hadn't seen the sun in so long.

Jill knew she needed Excella Gionne gone. Finito. Out of the way.

It was the only way she'd be able to get close enough to Wesker to "serve" him. The only way she could get close enough to get him to trust her. To get him to let her in and see him, hear him, smell him, know him. And she needed it to feel REAL. She needed him to think she was…his.

She needed that bitch out of the way to do it. Or she'd be spending the rest of her life running around adjacent to a big boobed prima donna with a god complex. Excella. Even her name was stupid and pretentious.

Jill stared at the torchlight over the stone sarcophagi. She wondered who lay within. What bodies were there, sad and dead, and dust? Would she join them? Would she die here…in the long dark without the sun?

The idea chilled her.

She needed Excella gone.

But how?

And Wesker spoke, scaring her stupid. "Jill – it is time for dinner. Go and dress. I have chosen one for you. It would please me if you would wear it."

Jill rolled her head over her shoulder to look at him.

He wore black. What else? This was some kind of suit. Not his normal battlesuit. This was just a suit. A tie. A white shirt. A pair of linen pants.

He had the contacts in his eyes that he wore when Excella was with him. They left his red eyes brown. His Nordic good looks were well suited to the strange time warp of ancient civilization that existed in this den of death where they dwelled.

Like a Viking or something.

Jill knew she wasn't herself anymore.

She'd stood before the mirror and stared the first time. She was as pale as him now. Leeched of color. Leeched of life. A shell.

A Barbie doll.

She rose now and said nothing. She didn't want to be injected. She didn't want that. And she couldn't trust his mood now to know if he'd whip open that case for no reason or not.

A dangerous game.

She said, quietly, "I will be good."

Wesker took her arms as she started passed him. He was always doing this now…touching her. Small touches. Little things. She was almost accustomed to it now. It didn't make her scared. It was like being petted or something.

It was just something he did.

He tilted her face up to him.

Ferguson said she wasn't sleeping.

It was clear on tired face. Her dark circles beneath her eyes. Her pale mouth. She wasn't taking care of herself. It irritated him.

He said, harshly, "I will have Ferguson give you a vitamin complex shot. You look like death, Jill. Take better care of yourself. Fix it. It irritates me to see you like this." His thumb swept the dark circle beneath her left eye.

And he let her go abruptly. She stumbled a little.

She said, quietly, "You sent me to kill him. You sent me in to kill him. Is that how you offer me your power? By stripping away mine? Do you think I will stand beside you if I can't trust you? You can shoot me full of that shit all day long…but that's not how you treat an equal. It's how you treat a slave."

What was that on his face? Nothing. And something. But nothing.

He said, coolly, "The mission was not mine. It was Excella's. She sent you to punish us both. You know this. Don't be petty, Jill. Redfield is alive. Excella has been…admonished. Come to dinner. I find it tiresome to hear you whine."

He turned and left her standing there.

Jill looked down at her hands. The nails were chipped and chewed on. Such a bad habit. She'd always had it.

You look like death, Jill.

She closed her eyes, sighing. And she could see him. She could feel him. She could almost smell him. His face in the firelight, "Who are you!?"

His hands on her. His mouth on her.

"Why do you dress like you do?"

"Like what?"

"You cover yourself so no one will see you. Why? You're fucking perfect."

"I'm not. Really. I'm not."

"Whatever. I'm looking at you, Valentine. I'm seeing a lot of perfect."

She opened her eyes.

And she touched her mouth.

Her breath shuddered out.

She went to put on the fucking dress and please Albert Wesker's bitch. She went to be less pathetic. And there was no more "fucking perfect".

But she thought…just maybe…she knew how to get rid of Excella Gionne.

She'd been following the bitch around for days. She knew that she carried that little attache case with her. She knew why Wesker kept her with him so much. Whatever was in that case, was for him. The big boobied bitch was also a genius in geneticist. So, there was the power of appeasing her jealousy.

He wasn't a god. He was a man…with a virus.

Whatever in that case was like roids or something.

She thought of Chris. Roids.

Was he blood doping? It froze her heart to think of it. He so would. He'd do something stupid to make himself stronger.

The idiot.

The wonderful fool.

Whatever was, in that case, was blood doping for Wesker. She was SURE of it. She just needed to separate Excella from the case…and separate the case from Wesker.

That was how you found out the weakness…of a devil.

He was three drinks in.

He didn't usually drink.

But he needed it now.

On the bar beside him, the small locket winked in the muted light. It was nothing really. A cheap piece of coated silver and chain he'd bought her one day in Wombat Junction. She'd been standing in front of a shop window, looking at the shiny girl shit that waited inside.

They hadn't even been sleeping together yet. Not then. The stupid boyfriend had still been around…kinda.

She had on that mini skirt and those boots that made him insane. And a big sweatshirt because it was cold enough she'd left the tube top at home. She was smiling a little out the side of her mouth.

He offered the pretzel he'd bought from the street vendor beyond them. She took a big bite and plopped mustard on the sweatshirt. Which was totally her thing. She was always plopping stuff on her shirts.

He was wiping it off her with a napkin when she said, "You know something funny?"

"You have a secondary escape hatch in your mouth that prevents you from keeping food in it?"

She gave him the stink eye. "Watch it, Red. Or I'll lock the windows on that piece of shit ride of yours back there on the way home and dutch oven you."

She was always threatening him with farting. He had yet to be exposed to it. He was pretty sure she was bluffing.

Pretty sure.

He laughed and little, unflappable. "So, what then?"

She turned her eyes back to the shop window. "Henri was always getting locked up when I was younger. He was a terrible father. Just a real fucking mess. I had this locket that my mother had left. It had a picture of her in it holding me. The only one I had."

Jill sighed a little and shrugged. "He sold it one day for a set of lockpicks."

Chris watched her face. His heart hitched a little. "Oh yeah?"

"Yep. He was a shitty Dad." She laughed a little and turned away from the window. "You wanna hit the bumper cars?"

Jill was eating a corndog by the Newspaper stand. She was sifting through the latest gossip rag giggling about shitty celebrity marriages and enormous mutant babies. The National Enquirer was her secret dirty obsession.

Chris knocked her corndog out of her hand.

It hit the ground and left her holding the stick.

She narrowed her eyes. "I warned you about the farting, Redfield. But clearly you want to play with the devil. Consider the warning phase OVER."

Pfft. She was full of shit.

Although hopefully not full of gas.

He grinned and lifted his hand. "Shut up. I got this for you."

It was the little silver filigree locket. The one in the window. She said nothing. She took the locket. She opened the teeny chamber. And there was a picture of his parents in it. His beautiful Mother, his Father.

Jill looked up at him and felt her heart shiver. "You gave me a locket with your parents in it?"

"Yeah." Chris shrugged a little. "Why not? You have shitty parents. Total asshats. Mine? AWESOME. And they would have loved you. My Mom? Constantly pulling a dutch oven on the old man. She'd have probably asked you to marry me and have ninety-five babies. So, I figured, I'd share them with you."

They'd stood in the sunny winter air watching each other. Finally, Jill handed it back to him and he clipped it around her neck.

It dangled between her breasts, over her heart. She touched it. And it felt like the little locket was going to embed into her skin and mold to her flesh. Such a tiny little thing. It had the power to control her heart in its cheap silver filigree.

He said, "See? Looks good on you."

Jill had hugged him. For the first time. She'd hugged him. And the locket had pressed between them like a brand.

She'd gone out the window wearing it. It was the only thing he'd caught in his hand when he's tried to catch her. Wherever she was, she was without it.

She'd called it her talisman once. The thing that kept the evil from getting in.

She hadn't been wearing it in Terragrigia. Maybe that was why Wesker had pulled her into the dark with him. Maybe she'd needed a talisman.

And now she was lost in the dark.

His hand closed around it. He rolled it in his fist.

The bar door jingled. Mira leaped up onto the stool beside him.

He glanced at her in the shadowy, smoky bar.

Mira sipped a long neck beer. She eyed him beneath her springy, curly, quagmire of curls. They poked up everywhere. They were unruly. She had piercing eyes the color of topaz and jade. Insane. The gift of mixed race heritage. Her skin was like coffee with three creams. So were her thighs – which were currently flashing plenty in the little skirt and boots she was wearing. She'd paired it with some kind of tank top that left her tits on looking Playboy Bunny obscene.

She'd been a good friend to him. She kept him busy. They played darts and pool. When he wasn't with Claire. He was with her. Or Leon Kennedy.

Surprisingly, Kennedy was a good dude to pal around with. Kinda made stupid jokes all the time. Mostly spent his nights flirting with skirts and winking. But still, a good dude to catch a ball game with.

Mira was no bullshit. Which is why she reminded him of Jill. She laughed at dirty jokes and gave shit like a man. She was something. She kept his brain from imploding in grief. So, that was a good thing.

Across the Bar, Kennedy leaned on his pool cue, watching them. He lifted a brow and gestured with his shaggy head. He was wearing some fancy pair of jeans that were probably brand spanking new but somehow looked old and full of holes and cowboy boots with a red v-neck tee. The tee shirt looked older than piss. The girl that kept putting her hands all over him though? Not. If she was barely twenty-one, Chris was gonna eat his shoe.

But you got used to that shit too when you hung out with Leon Kennedy. He was catnip for skanks. The more bleach blonde and trashy, the more they flocked around his skinny frame like he had crack in his sack.

It was a strange phenomenon.

They didn't bother to hit on Chris. He wasn't catnip to anyone, it seemed. He'd NEVER been as pretty as Kennedy, anyway. Ever. So women didn't fall at his feet with their legs spread. Once they got there, they were good to go. But it didn't happen like with Leon. That dude swirled scotch, smoked a cigarette, winked and women...plop. Legs akimbo.

To be fair, Chris probably looked like a glowering clown on most days. He sat alone in bars swirling a single drink most nights. He barely smiled. He didn't bother to flirt.

Girls didn't want to hang around with a pissed off mountain.

Leon had said, "Redfield, seriously. Go get laid. You think Jill would be sitting around mooning about you until her shit dried up and she couldn't get off anymore?"

And, then, there was THAT. Kennedy had a filthy mouth. For a WASP.

"No. She'd be out there jumping on junk and getting on with her life. Go find a sad house wife or a starry-eyed coed, sit her backwards on your cock, and get your rocks off. Then you come back here and focus on the rest of it."

Kennedy was a jackass. But he wasn't entirely wrong.

Mira shifted, rolling her boots over the swirling silver rest of the stool where she sat.

The sleek muscle in her arms told the story of countless hours in the gym. He knew that story. He lived in the gym.

The waitress over his shoulder kept eyeing him like angsty candy.

Mira caught her eye, lifted a brow and circled a finger to indicate she needed to turn around and get to stepping. Whatever else was true. Jill had been her girl. And she didn't think she'd want Chris sitting around pining for her until the end of time…but she most likely didn't want him banging random bar skanks either. She'd been protective of her guy in life. In death, she'd probably want to make sure he was taken care of.

The fire flashed in her mind. And the weird mechanical woman saying, "PROTECT HIM."

Maybe it was Jill sending her a message from beyond the grave.

Across the bar, the girl hanging off Leon Kennedy let out a high pitched giggle. She had one hand fisted in his shirt, the other playing with his hair. He had that stupid grin on his face that made girls soak their panties.

He let the giggly hot mess stick that tongue in his ear. Mira rolled her eyes.

Chris snorted and rolled his eyes. "What's the deal with him?"

Mira glanced over her shoulder. "Kennedy is pretty. He's put together. Articulate. He throws it down when you ask. Girls flock. It's what we do."

Chris lifted a brow at her. He rolled the locket in his palm. "You jumping on his nuts too?"

Mira snorted too. She considered her angle here. "Nope. He offered. He's pretty. But no. He's not my type."

Chris swirled his drink and threw it back, hissing. He was three in. One more and he'd probably face plant behind the bar and take a nap. "What's your type?"

Mira licked her teeth. He hadn't shaved. He was about as big as a semi. Jill had been her girl. She had to figure, she'd want him happy right? Why not?

And she said, "Big and mean. Potentially drunk."

Well, shit. "Pretty shitty taste. You can probably do better."

"Most likely. But I like angsty and lost. Flips my switch from having a shitty ex-husband."

He leaned back on the stool, watching her. Mira sipped her beer, head tilted. She was wearing some kind of metal bangles that clinked when she shifted her arms. She kinda looked like an Amazon or something.

"You kick the husband out?"

Mira considered and said, "Nope. He put his hands on me. I put his face through a plate glass window. Turns out, that wrecks a bad marriage."

Yep. She was something.

The locket was cold in his hand. His thumb rubbed the smooth metal. He took it and looped it over his head. It settled against his chest and was somehow warm.

Mira shifted on her stool again. She tapped her boot. And she finally said, "You can sit here in this bar, drunk, mourning Jill Valentine until you pass out. It's probably your usual Friday night. Coupled with watching Kennedy over there nail that bag of tits and giggles, it sounds like the worst way to waste your life. But that's just my opinion."

Chris laughed a little. The locket bumped against his chest. "You got a better idea?"

And Mira said, "You could take upstairs to the room you rented and fuck me bowlegged."

He licked his teeth. Well, shit. He kinda wanted to say yes.

God knew it was better than another night with Dog and a pile of Jill's pictures.

He returned, "Made that mistake once. Turned out she was as dirty as she was good at bouncing my on dick. I generally try not to shit where I eat anymore."

Mira lifted her brow at him. "I don't want to marry you. Not lookin to be your girl. Not even lookin to take her place. And I don't throw my shit to multiple masters. I do, however, have a tendency to scream and ride dick like a whore. So, your choice."

Across the bar, Kennedy caught his eye. He lifted his brow and gestured that head again. Well, nothing like getting the Leon Kennedy seal of approval for uncomplicated fucking.

Since Chris was neither stupid nor blind, and was also sometimes both, he could take a hint.

Mira waited for the inevitable shoot down. She sipped her beer.

Chris threw some money down on the counter top. He passed by her stool and stopped. He didn't say a word. He didn't do anything but loop his arm around her waist and pick her up against him. She clung, feet dangling.

She was breathing fast and hard. She barely got the door open and he was on her.

Admittedly, she'd underestimated what kind of lover he'd be.

He was all mouth and hands and commands. He liked to talk dirty and tell you what he wanted. There was no getting naked. It was panties pulled down the legs and skirt hiked up.

And she was good as her word. She was screaming as the dresser hit the wall behind her. And she was wet and taking it like a whore.

The body liked it. Yeah, it did. He wasn't dead. He was still a guy. He drilled her so hard he was pretty sure he was going to kill her.

But she kept on screaming for more.

And the little locket swung against his chest when he flipped her around, hitched her hips up on the dresser, adjusted the angle and filled her out like an application.

The mirror above the dresser reflected his face back at him. Heavy eyed, flushed, sweaty as he hammered himself into the girl around him. A good girl this time. Funny and real and loving. A good girl.

And still the wrong girl.

The locket pressed into his chest – and tried to burn into the flesh and leave him branded.

He flipped her around. Her thighs opened. His hand lifted to wrap around her throat. Her little boots knocked on his ass. She was keening, shaking, bouncing.

He was SWEATING. He was shaking.

And he knew why. He knew why.

Chris pressed her down on the dresser. His other hand fumbled rapidly on the dresser where his case was. He kept on drilling her. She kept on screaming.

And his hand closed around the syringe.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't feel anything. He needed it.

Without it, he was just a man again. Just a man…without Jill Valentine.

Her ripped the cap off with his teeth. His hand gripped into her shirt, tugging. It spilled those fantastic breasts free for him to put his mouth all over. She cried out. She grabbed his face.

He needed the power. He needed the power…to find Jill. He needed to take the power, to fight the world. He needed it.

And he stuck the plunger into the side of his neck.

The hit took his breath away. It fired in his body.

And he became a machine again. A machine that fucked her like he'd rip her open…and maybe find Jill in her blood. The locket bounced on his chest. The man in the mirror bared his teeth.

And the girl in his arms came screaming his name.

While the locket settled there, crushed between them, and branded his flesh beneath it.

Wesker cornered her outside her room before dinner. He studied her in the gown he'd chosen. He watched her in that way of his. That way that made her feel like a test subject, or a priceless bird, or a siren. Maybe all three.

He lifted his hand and there was a small black velvet box in it.

A small necklace graced the lush red velvet inside. It was lovely. Expensive. Antique. It was an ornate…bug?

Jill blinked at it.

Wesker lifted it and she lifted her hair so he could slide it around her neck. His fingers trailed over her skin, leaving goosebumps behind.

The tiny bug settled between her breasts, over her heart.

His fingers trailed there and pressed it to her skin. His eyes met hers in the mirror across from them. A pretty scene, Jill thought objectively. The beautiful woman in the gown. The beautiful suiter in the tuxedo. A pretty picture.

A perfect lie.

Wesker said, quietly, "The scarab was once considered to be the Egyptian symbol of eternity. It was given as gifts between Pharaohs and their Queens. It was said that the scarab allowed the bearer to choose the path of their power. To continue that which they tread…or choose another that offered a new awakening and enlightenment. It became the insignia of the divine."

His fingers shifted, just a little, just enough to skim the edge of her breast. It brought her eyes to his in the mirror. And that little scarab was warm against her skin.

He spoke so softly. It was entrancing. She didn't even think to shift away. She watched his face in the mirror.

"The king and his insignia were untouchable to ordinary mortals. Petitioners and ambassadors approached him with due reverence, which in the New Kingdom meant to prostrate oneself seven times and seven times both upon the belly and back. They served him. He was a god amongst mortals. The rulers of Canaan liked to compare the pharaoh to the sun and themselves to the dust under his feet. The sun, Jill. The source of all life and power. The ultimate. And that which remains when all inferior life is destroyed."

He lowered his mouth.

And pressed it to the curve of her neck and shoulder. She shivered, watching him. Like one might watch the hawk as it prepares to take the field mouse.

He released her. And the little scarab was suddenly cold between her breasts…and over her heart.

"It would please me if you would wear it to dinner."

Dinner was an interesting affair.

For the first time, Jill was charming.

She was in a shimmery blue dress. It was lovely. It was sparkles and silky and trailed on the floor. There was no wearing a bra with it, as it was skinny little straps and smooth skin. But it was flattering and clearly expensive.

Excella, by contrast, wore something red and tight. It left her exquisite and endless cleavage to the viewers delight.

Jill kept her talking. She charmed her. She made her laugh. She played so perfectly to her vanity and intellect that Excella kept the wine flowing and the conversation rich with her narcissism.

Wesker left them halfway through the evening.

Jill had begun to learn that he often times would separate himself when his "energy" began to wane. It was likely when Excella would find him to boost him with whatever was in that case.

The case sat against the far wall.

Jill kept her eyes on it like a hawk.

And Excella played right into it like she'd been born yesterday. Genius intellect suffered, it seemed, under two bottles of wine. Jill waited until she'd passed out on the small gold settee in the corner.

The clock ticked behind her.

Heart hammering, Jill picked up the case. It needed a key, obviously. Which was likely either on Wesker himself or somewhere on Excella's sleeping form. She searched the woman for the key without any luck.

Jill took the case with her.

She exited the dining room and moved quietly down the hallway.

The doorway to his room was cracked. She could hear him in there pacing. She lifted a hand and knocked.

His voice called, "Excella – come. Be quick. You're late."

Jill came into the room with the case in her hand. He turned. And supreme being or not, she'd surprised him.

He still had on the sunglasses which made her wonder if Excella was aware of the eyes. Why else did he wear them in his own sanctuary?

Jill set the case on the bed.

And she said, "Jonesing for a hit?"

Wesker eyed her. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his face. Curious, Jill studied him. What was it in him that caused the reaction? She didn't know how much shit he'd pumped into himself in all these years. But something wasn't playing nice.

She mused, "What's the hit for, Wesker? To keep you stable? Or to keep you STRONG?"

He moved toward her. She waited, watching him. He grabbed throat in his hands and tugged her forward. "Don't toy with me, Jill. Get out."

Interesting.

He didn't want her to know about the case. Why? She was betting it was door number two. His grip on her throat…was shaking.

Something rolled in her belly. She slid her hand up his shirt and felt his heartbeat.

Racing.

And so she said, "You need it. Whatever is in there. You need it to maintain. What is it, Wesker? Which virus is it controlling? A god? A god doesn't need a hit like a junkie to stay a god."

He squeezed her throat. She lifted her hand, grabbed his wrist, and put her hip into him. He went up, thrown, and he shouldn't have. He was better than that. She'd fought him in the gym a thousand times. He was BETTER than that.

He landed on his back on the bed and Jill lifted her dress, skin prickling.

She slid onto the bed and him, straddling him. Her hands shifted and held his down. She put them over his head, trapping him.

The case with his fix was RIGHT THERE. He should be able to throw her off. Throw her away. And take it. He didn't.

Why?

She twined their fingers, leaning down toward him. "Excella is your dealer. She's your fucking drug dealer. She follows you around and you pander to her because she's got your fix."

Jill slid her hand over now. She grabbed the case and shook it.

"I've got your fix now. Me. Fight me off. Take it back. You don't need her." She leaned down and something wet and dark slipped its tongue into her soul. It brought her breath in a heavy pant. Her voice was slick and taunting. "Show me that power. Take it back."

Beneath her, he spoke quietly but with force. "The key is in my pocket. Get it. And open the case, Jill."

The necklace swung between them, taunting. Twinkling.

Jill lowered her mouth to his. She pressed it there, smooth and soft. "Not yet."

The power.

He'd spoken of it so often. It rolled there now. He was weakened. He was needy. He was as close to mortal as he would ever be. She could kill him.

She could kill him now and finish it.

He must have seen something of it on her face.

Because he cautioned her, "Don't be a fool, Jill. Do you think I am beaten? Get the key. In my jacket. Hurry."

Hurry.

He was desperate.

Without his fix, he'd become nothing. Just a man. A man…at the mercy of Jill Valentine.

She slid her hand down his side. She slid it into his inner jacket pocket. Her fingers found the tiny key. She lifted it and smiled.

Quietly, she instructed him. "If you try to fight me off, I will take this case and throw it in the river. It will leave you weak. It will leave you broken. You offered me the chance to serve you. I agreed. But the price is her. Get rid of her. That's how you earn my loyalty."

She leaned over and unlocked the case. He watched her, so quietly.

The little case held four injections. Each was a different color. The little plungers were steel and happily labeled. PG67A/W. Progenitor? Wesker? Was he using Progenitor to empower him? Or was he using a compound…to control the Progenitor WITHIN him?

No wonder he deemed himself a god. If he'd filled himself full of the Stairway to the Sun, he was playing with more than fire. He was courting the birthplace of all their worlds. The virus that had claimed all their lives had found its base in Progenitor. It was the lifeblood of Umbrella. And…it seemed…of Albert Wesker.

His voice came again, "Hurry, Jill."

Jill picked up one of the syringes. She rolled it in her palm. Her hand shifted and pulled the sunglasses from his face.

She tossed them on the bed.

And stared into the boiling, burning, churning red of his eyes.

Jill leaned down and felt the world tilt. The sun, he'd said. The sun. The Stairway to the Sun. The scarab and its ability…to offer another path. She'd been chasing that feeling as long as she could remember.

That feeling of power he breathed about. The girl no one loved. The girl no one wanted. The sun, he'd said, eclipsed by the boy who'd never loved her enough.

Take the power, Jill, and rule the world.

The scarab settled on her chest.

She shifted. Her hand brought the plunger down…and shoved it hard and fast into his chest.

He bowed, gasping. Just a man. Not a god. Just a man.

And she'd been playing men all her life.

Her eyes lifted to the mirror across from them. She watched him shake. She saw the moment the fire hit his blood and consumed.

Take the power, Jill.

Wesker's hands came up. He grabbed her arms. Jill held him down with a hand on his collarbone. She gripped the side of his face. She said, "Remember…I could have killed you. But I gave you back your power. And don't doubt my loyalty again."

Her hand shifted. There was the soft sound of metal. The give of cloth.

Just a man. Not a god. Just a man. She took him inside of her. She took his power. It closed slick and wet and warm. The scarab swung cold and smooth.

Her dress settled around them. Her hand slid over his chest and waited for it. And his mortal heart fired fast and desperate as she moved. She rode, she took his power into her. His hand slid over and closed around the little necklace.

And he let her.

He let her take him.

Freedom, Jill,…and me.

The sound of her breathing was loud in the quiet room. She milked his body. She rose and fell above him, pale and blonde and beautiful. It was consuming. It was perfect.

The Pharaoh. The Queen.

She rode him madly now. Her breasts bouncing, head thrown back. His hand shifted and slid around one, cupping, holding. She collapsed down over him and took his mouth.

It was as it should be, he thought wildly, as he rolled and she spilled to her back on the bed beneath him. It was as it should be. A new world was born through completion. It was born through coupling.

Her dress hiked up her thighs. His body plunged fast and desperate. The fire in his blood signified his ascension. No more a mortal. A god.

He lifted her to his mouth.

She made a small sound of need.

Her body opened. Her mouth gasped. He plunged into her, branding her. The orgasm spilled into her belly. It coupled with the wetness between her thighs. His body pistoned. Hers absorbed.

It compelled.

Their hands spilled together above her head. He anchored, plunging. The walls of her body drew him in, coaxing, tempting. A god? A god didn't need to fuck. A god didn't need to come. He was a man.

And she would take his power.

It would only cost her…her soul.

The pace turned. The world split. She gasped. She bowed. The Devil. The King. He raped a cry from her mouth. Her legs opened further. Her musical cry seemed to bring him to some kind of frenzy.

He was nearly unstoppable now. The rhythm collapsed. And he began to plow into her while the wet slap of it punctuated their gasping breaths. He hit the end of her body and tried to possess her with each driving thrust.

Jill felt the moment he spilled across her body…and consumed her.

She opened her mouth to his tongue. She opened her legs to his body. She opened her soul to his possession. It was the only way to take the power from the devil. You had to let him in.

The compound she'd given him made his skin impossibly warm. It melted where it touched. It burned. She burned. He didn't stop. He hit the end of her body with each wet, thick, desperate inch of him. It hurt. It hammered. It opened her mouth to a keen.

His hands on her breasts, sculpting. Molding. He anchored her body to the bed and plummeted into her throbbing body. Wet, lost, she rolled him to his back again.

She slapped up and down. She spilled sticky and wet. His body curled up, against her, around her. She saw them, in the mirror, all blonde, all pale, all gasping limbs and beautiful silk. Pink and white and perfect.

A pretty picture.

A pretty lie.

She threw her back into an arch, her hands slid down his thighs to brace, and the pleasure of it slapped and smashed through the hate. It slid inside of her and threw open the door to her own need. She'd stood in the rain and couldn't understand how Chris could do it. How could he fuck someone he hated? How could you let someone you hated that far inside of you?

And yet HE was. HE was inside of her.

They both were. The Devil. And the Lion.

She grabbed his face and drew it back. The red of his eyes. The spread of her thighs. She gasped his name.

And watched it echo on his face.

That's what he wanted. To own her. To bring her to him.

It was how she controlled him. How she became the puppet master. It meant giving him the pieces of her, that bled red with hatred for him.

She saw her face in the mirror. And she wasn't there alone.

She was never there alone.

Chris was always there. Always.

And the pain of it broke out of her mouth on a moan. She tried to fight against it. She tried to pull back. She tried to hang on.

And his plunging cock between legs hit the place in her that opened her mouth on a scream. She screamed. Her body burst. She grabbed his face and came, spilling wet, wet, needy and raw.

He rolled her to her back, pinned her beneath him, and grabbed her throat. She opened her legs so wide. So wide. Her body kept shaking, quaking, rising and falling. It kept taking and milking and making meaty slaps. The scarab swung. His mouth tasted. It sipped from the swing of her breasts.

He took her into the wet of his want while she bowed toward him. She burned him. She branded him. She offered herself to his thrusting. Thrusting. Thrusting.

A machine. A monster. He plunged into her like he'd rip her open…and what would he find? What would find inside of her?

Would he find Chris in her blood?

He dragged her up. He claimed her. The red of his eyes. The spread of her thighs. And her own demise. It was all written on the Nordic beauty of his face. And coupled with the cry of her soul that despised him. Even as her body absorbed and offered him a place at her core.

The devil took her to his mouth, bowing her spine…and he gave her his power.

He gave her his power, scalding, hot, desperate…spilling there inside her womb.

And the girl in his arms came gasping his name.

While the scarab settled between them, crushed there by his weight, and branded into her flesh.

When the night was long and the shadows thick, she eased from his chamber. She eased into the hallway. Her back pressed against the wall. Her hand pressed to her mouth. She slid to her knees in the soft carpet.

The price was her soul. Her soul.

How could she pay it? When it wasn't even hers to offer him? How could she pay it?

When it was already split in half?

If she listened hard enough, she could almost hear him. ALMOST hear him.

I'm not there, Jill. I'm not there. Come and find me. GET UP.

And she did. She got up.

And turned back to sleep beside the devil.

Because she'd been his weakness. But he'd always, always, been her strength. And it was enough. To have her offer up the other half of her soul to keep him safe.

When the dawn was red and pink and the world gold at the edges of the rising day, he crouched among the dying grass.

His fingers spilled over her name. It touched the dried blood there along the cold stone.

Let her go, they kept saying it. They kept pushing. Let her go.

How could he? The price of that would be his soul.

How could he pay it? When it wasn't even his to offer? She'd taken it with her.

She'd taken it like she'd torn it from his body as she fell.

If he pushed hard enough, fast enough, far enough...he'd find her. It echoed in his blood to feel it.

It echoed in his fractured soul.

He spoke, and his voice carried on the wind around him, "I will find you. I'm not here, Jill. I'm there. Wait for me. I will find you. I absolutely will not fail you."

And he got up.

He stood up.

Because she'd always stood between him and the world. She'd stood like a shield against the pain. And he'd failed her.

He wouldn't fail her now. He would give her back when she'd given him.

It was hanging on when he felt like giving up. And giving more when he just wanted to give up. It gave him strength when he was weak. And spilled belief into the grief that tried to leave him broken. Under it all was the truth, the only one he had: there was no Chris Redfield without Jill Valentine.

He was still here.

He was STILL HERE. Which meant somewhere out there, she was waiting for him to find her.


	27. Chapter 27

XXVII: Lacrimosa Dominae

:::::::::::::Twenty-Seven::::::::::

The shadows lengthened. They left little to the imagination.

In the swirling backed chair, the angry face of the woman sitting there was reflected on the screen before her. The stupid girl. The experiment. The false-faced bitch.

The little monitor flickered. It showed them there, together, curled in the satin sheets. She'd suspected the smooth skin and colorless beauty would appeal to him. It was in his nature to gravitate toward females. He was an alpha male. He would be a KING in their New World.

Jill Valentine had been a mistake.

The wrong choice for a test subject. Excella didn't DARE keep injecting her with the P30. Not now. Not, when it seemed, Albert had become…fond of his little pet. But it was time for the girl to go.

She'd needed a bargaining chip here. She needed the right one.

She'd fought against the effects of the P30 in the Congo. She'd done that. It was unprecedented. Unheard of. Unbelievable.

Excella shifted to the file folder on the desk before her.

She flipped pages.

And she picked up the phone. "It's time...yes. You know what happens if you refuse...do it."

And the shadows breathed around her.

….

On November 23rd, 2008 – Jill Valentine died.

It was the third time she would do so.

It was the first time she was ready for it.

But she didn't stay dead. He wouldn't let her stay dead. Even if he brought her back, only to have her serve him.

On November 20th, 2008 – three days before Jill Valentine would meet death for a hat trick – Chris Redfield would come to face his own past.

Three years after he'd lost everything to it.

He was returning from an intelligence drop in Castalemare, Spain. A small sect of Los Illuminados had tried to set up shop in the caves there. The whispering hinted at Ada Wong being present for it.

Kennedy had been tied up on some kind of conference in Bum Fuck Nowhere.

So, he'd put in the call for help.

Chris had gone in with Mira riding shotgun. True to her word, she'd never once made things weird, uncomfortable, or painful. They'd gone back to working together without any shift at all in their dynamic.

She remained hell on wheels as a partner.

Blowing shit up. Breaking necks. She was a tiny Valkyrie. She was a killer fairy. Tinkerbell with a machete.

It was pretty rad.

Ada Wong hadn't disappointed.

She'd left a file folder like an offering on a table beneath the shitty little shanty town where she'd come down like the sword of vengeance. She'd killed every last infected freak in the town. It was smolder and ash when they found it. It was done.

And the information she left behind told him what he'd known all along.

Someone was harvesting Progenitor. Someone was a rat inside the GPC. Someone with big contacts and big money was playing God. Why?

His guts knew the answer.

He spent an entire afternoon reading the file. Wong was efficient. She was clever. She didn't miss a fucking trick. She outlined each money trail, she put pins in the players with shady spots on their records, she pretty much laid a path to the problem.

Africa.

Something was rotten in Africa.

Black market weapons deals had always been a pain in the ass for the bioterror world when it came to Africa. It was a hot bed of political and governmental activity. It was dicey to get in and get anything done. Some bureaucrat was always waving red tape around to block them.

It was a mess to try to negotiate. But the call was put into the African branch of the BSAA there for an attachment in the Congo. It was just a mattered of waiting for the wheels to grease and start moving.

In the mean time, it was digging through suspects to find the mole.

Somebody was playing dirty. With Lansdale behind bars, it wasn't him. Unless he was pulling strings from the big house. Which wasn't entirely unlikely.

Chris sat at his kitchen table, tossing the ball absently for Dog. Dog wasn't as fast as he'd been once. He was ten years old now. Which was maybe old for a mutt. But the shaggy hot mess was still spry and happy.

Shirtless, in his sleeping pants, Chris scanned ledgers and financial statements. His fingers ran the length of the pages, looking for something that said: RAT.

The first concession to the start of old age were the glasses. Little, square, they perched on his nose while he jotted notes on his pad and flipped pages. The shaggy spill of his hair was nicely coupled with the five o'clock shadow on his face that he'd probably been sporting since he'd turned twelve years old.

Ok, maybe more like fifteen. But close enough.

Dog let out a woof to signal the arrival of someone before they knocked. Dog sense was better than night vision goggles. Seriously.

The knock at the door had him rising, taking one last pull on his coffee, and moving to answer it.

And Jessica Sherawat stood at his door.

If it had been Hitler. Or Sadam Hussein. Or Santa Claus. He wouldn't have been more surprised.

His hand shot down. He realized he wasn't packing. And instead?

He grabbed her throat in his hand.

She lifted her hands to show herself unarmed. She was in some kind of little yellow jacket and skinny black pants. Her face was beneath a big floppy hat and oversized sunglasses. But she held those hands up. She had a file folder in one of them.

"Easy, handsome. Easy. I come in peace."

"You're about to go in pieces, you two-faced cunt. I should break your fucking neck and do the world a favor."

Jessica couldn't help it. She shivered.

She'd forgotten how shitty he was. It was refreshing. It was also coupled with the fact that he looked like he'd jammed roids into his body and exploded with muscle. Which somehow worked on him. He was huge…HUGE. In lots of places…clearly.

She said, "You could. But then you'd never know about Jill Valentine."

That worked.

It echoed on his face.

His hand didn't drop. It did, however, drag her into his house. He threw her and kicked the door closed in a single move. She hit the kitchen table and slid across it, spilling to the floor on the other side. Papers scattered, and she rolled as she landed.

He came around the table like an angry storm. She threw her leg up and kicked him clean in the face when he grabbed for her. But it cost her. He caught her ankle, twisted, and jerked. She spilled over the floor, his hand caught in her jacket, and he jerked her up. She was in a headlock and struggling to breathe.

He kicked her in the back of the leg and put her on her knees. His hand grabbed the butcher block beside him, he flipped the knife in his hand like a pro, and he put it against her throat. Jessica threw up her hands, choking. "Stop! Listen! I'm NOT LYING!"

Chris growled, "Well, there's a FIRST time for everything!"

He jerked her hair back and she cried, "AFRICA."

Chris froze. "What did you say?"

"Africa. It's a hot bed. It's the source. Look up a man named Ricardo Irving. A black market weapons dealer. He's dirty. He's dealing in BOW's. He's working under the Resource Development Division there for Tricell. He's dealing them out to anyone with the dime to buy them. And he's not doing it alone."

Chris lowered the knife slowly. He was breathing fast and sharp. "Who's he working with?"

"I don't know. Honest to god, I don't know. The information I get comes from informants that I don't even see eye to eye. They funnel it through third parties."

"You're telling me that information just drops in your fucking lap? Like rainbows? POOF – here's some information. Maybe I'll take it to Chris Redfield and send him off to hunt it down." His mocking tone actually made her wince. He'd been mean when she'd been fucking him. Now? He was worse.

Because he wasn't just mean. He was broken. It shifted around him like a bad smell. You could FEEL it when you were close.

He laughed darkly. "You fucking kidding me? You think I'll trust a thing that comes out of your lying whore's mouth? You did better by spreading your thighs, Jessica. At least on your back, you were being honest."

GOD. She hated him.

He was such a fucking asshole.

Jessica turned her head. And she bit as hard as she could into all that muscle that made up his stomach.

He grunted and tossed her to the floor.

She rolled to her back as he grabbed her again. And clicked the hammer on the gun in her hands.

"'That's enough of that shit, Redfield. Enough! You wanna waste time trying to get revenge on me, you go ahead. But you're a fucking fool if you do. Who the hell do you think leaked the information on Spencer? It fell right into your hands right? Plop. And you and Valentine went straight in there. Who was there? You son of a bitch, who was there!?"

His face raced with emotion. She saw him figure it out.

And she said, "Yeah. WESKER. Who the fuck do you think Irving used as a contact? He's dirty. And he was working with Wesker. You walked right into that trap and lost her. You think it was an accident? Wesker set you up."

Chris glared at her. He was breathing hard and fast. His heart was racing.

"You're saying Irving is in bed with Wesker. In Africa."

"An interesting and vaguely disgusting turn of phrase, but yeah. I'm saying do the math there. He's dirty. He's dealing double. I SHOULD KNOW. It's my M.O. The bad news is that I can't give you an exact location. But I can tell you this: keep your eye on the shifting political clime there. Usually, when you get a powerplay happening, you've got a dirty underground setting up a coup."

He held her gaze from the floor. "This is too much free information here, Jessica. Too much. You think I'll trust a word of it?"

"Yeah, I do. Because you know I'm RIGHT. I turned on you for the T-Abyss sample. I did that. I won't tell you who I sold it to. But suffice it to say it went to the wrong hands. I don't usually give a shit about stuff like that. But even my heart has it's moment."

Chris laughed. He shook his head. "You aren't here over a change of heart, Jessica. Cut the shit. What do you want?"

Jessica shifted on the floor. She said, "My employer paid me to tell you. They want the mess dealt with. They want Irving out of the way. I've been out of the game for awhile, Chris. Dealing with a lot of my own shit. But once you're in, you're in for life. So, when they called, I had to take the gig. You think I ever wanted to see you again? You're not that good of a lay, honey. And definitely not worth dying for."

"What's going to stop me from killing you right now?"

She studied his face. She spoke, quietly, "You're not that guy. Inside that pissed off exterior? You're the guy who rolled on me in the middle of the night looking for something. You're not that guy."

Chris held her gaze. It shivered in his guts. He said, "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

She rose from the floor, gun aimed. "I do actually. I do. Look in the file folder. You'll figure out why I had to go underground. And you'll figure out why I can't afford to piss off the wrong people now. It's got everything you need on Irving."

He watched her face as she shifted toward the door. "If the intel is true, the test subjects there go through a reexamination process prior to being taken out of cryostasis."

He held her gaze. "Yeah. Yeah. You hear me. You know what I mean. They die, and they come back. Even if they go out a fucking window first."

Chris shifted toward her. Jill kept the gun up. "For the record, I'm sorry about Jill. Can't pretend to be sorry about betraying you. Because it was my job. And I'm good at my job. But I'm sorry as hell about, Jill. She got a raw deal. I hope you set it right."

Chris intoned, quietly, "I have a tendency to get revenge against those who wrong me."

"I heard that. I'd be more scared if I didn't know that under that bravado is a decent guy. You won't kill anyone unless you have to. We both know that. Maybe we only spent a couple of days bumping uglies…but I saw inside you, Redfield. You aren't cut out to be a killer. Leave that to the rest of us who sold our souls a long time ago."

Chris said, "How many people died when you sold that virus, Jessica? How many people died because you wanted to get paid? What's the price for your soul? A million? Two?"

Jessica shrugged a smooth shoulder. "Different times. Different climes. Things change. Can't fix the past, Chris. But we can decide how it goes from here. Killing me won't bring anybody back. It won't change anything at all. And we both know you're not the cold blooded type. Read the file. Ok? Read it. You'll figure out why I had to come here. Just read the damn file."

She backed up slowly. It would have been ok. Probably.

But Dog growled as she stepped on his tail. She spun the gun toward him. Chris grabbed for her as it went off. The shot went wild and hit the far wall.

They grappled, Jessica, throwing her hip into his big body. She turned the gun into his sternum, angling for a shot. Apparently, he wasn't going to make this easy.

They wrestled. She kneed him in the groin. He doubled over and she took aim at the back of his head.

And Dog bit her leg.

It fucking hurt.

The mutt sunk his teeth into her calve. She screamed and kicked him. He was thrown into the kitchen and hit the cabinets with a yelp.

Jessica turned back and thought maybe she'd been hit by a bus.

The world went back and red. The blow to the face threw her into a chair and spilled her to the ground with a clatter of breaking chair legs. She lost her gun somewhere in the fall. She smashed into the wall.

Gasping, she tried to figure out how bad it was. A shift of her face told her that her nose was toast. It wasn't just broken. It was shattered. Not hit by a bus…nope…a FREIGHT TRAIN.

She spit blood, looking up at him from the ground. Her face was a red ruin. Those violet eyes snapped daggers. "Happy? Call it in, you son of a bitch. Take me into custody."

Chris eyed her. He had her gun in his hands.

It was held loose at his side. He glanced at his communicator on the table in the mess she'd made when he'd thrown her. He said, "You tried to kill my dog."

"He BIT me! What should I have done? Politely told him to stop?"

Chris answered, "He's Jill's dog. You tried to kill Jill's dog."

"So? It's a fucking dog! You broke my NOSE, you asshole! I came here to help you and you broke my goddamn nose! Call your fucking cavalry, you fucking pig. Hurry up. I'm going to enjoy the hell out of rolling over on you for a deal. No fucking lie."

He looked at her in the blood and heard Dog whine in pain as he tried to get up. He limped a little on his hind legs. Chris said, quietly, "You tried to kill Jill's dog."

"I heard you the first time, you stupid bastard! I always wondered if you were half retarded. Who gives a fuck!? It's a d-"

He shot her in the face.

It was so loud. It echoed.

He blew her brains out all over the wall behind where she sat. The rush of it robbed his breath. It left him breathless. He put her down like a fucking zombie without blinking.

Her body jerked, flopped, and went still. Her blood had splattered all over him. He was covered in it.

It was all over the floor.

Thick chunks of brain matter and bone dripped down the pretty yellow wall behind her slumped over corpse.

Chris dropped the pistol to the floor.

He turned back to find Dog sitting on his bed. He was flecked with blood and chewing her shoe.

He was chewing one of her shoes that had come off in the fight.

Chris crouched and patted his head. Dog licked his bloody face.

He'd just shot Jessica Sherawat in the face….and felt nothing.

Not a damn thing.

He shifted. He shook a cigarette loose from the blood flecked pack on the table. He poked it in his mouth and lit it from his bloody hands. A piece of Jessica Sherawat's face slid down his naked chest.

Chris hit the button on his communicator. He called it in.

Armed suspect had broken into his house. A fight had ensued. And there had been a lawful termination.

That was it.

That's what happened.

And he'd murdered Jessica Sherawat in cold blood.

He hung up the call. He picked up the file folder she'd left behind. He didn't believe a fucking word she'd said.

But he kinda did.

He kinda did.

He flipped open the folder, exhaling smoke. Jessica's blood spilled around his bare feet and in between his toes. It was still warm.

The information on Irving was all legit. It panned out. She hadn't been lying about that much at least. He flipped pages, reading. There was a photograph of the man in question. Ugly. Sallow-faced. He looked like a pissed off hang dog hound with a receding hairline.

Chris tossed it with the rest of the information.

He flipped to the next set of stapled pages. There was a picture of a small boy paper clipped to it. Nice looking kid. He had blue eyes that were nearly…violet.

Chris froze. He lifted the picture up. The eyes were Jessica's. Hands down. But the skin was a good shade of gold. And the face?

The face was familiar.

Chris glanced down at the top page of the papers there. The kid was two and some change. The kid was being kept at a group home in Astoria. The mother was listed as Jessica Sherawat.

The father?

He dropped the cigarette. It tumbled into the waiting blood beside him.

The face was familiar.

Because the same face had just shot the mother of his child right between the eyes.

The face on the kid?

It was Chris Redfield's.

Excella shifted in her seat. She sighed.

Across from her, Jill and Wesker were eating breakfast. So polite. Everyone was friendly and polite.

Excella smiled sweetly at them. "Do you know…I had some information this morning from a contact of mine in the BSAA?"

Wesker glanced up from the report he was reading. He looked bored. He always looked bored. Jill didn't even bother to glance up.

Wesker queried, tonelessly, "Is that so? Did you leak the information as discussed?"

"Oh, yes. The game is in play. But perhaps our newest…friend…could offer some insight for us."

And now Jill glanced up.

Excella held her eyes. And she spoke smoothly, "Did you ever have the pleasure of meeting Jessica Sherawat?"

Jill jerked. She jerked like someone had slapped her.

She covered it up. But they'd all seen it.

Wesker returned again with just a TOUCH of irritation in his voice, "You know the story, Excella. Don't be petty. Did she offer intel?"

And now Excella grinned. She grinned. She held Jill's blue stare. And she said, "I'm afraid not. Sadly, she died during an encroaching struggle on her mission."

Wesker finally set down the paper. His face was set in lines of utter indifference. But he was listening.

Excella continued, "Mmm. Yes. Sad. A beautiful woman. Her son, coincidentally, has her beauty. So there's still some part of her left to make the world more bellisimo."

Jill was still sitting. Still staring. Still waiting.

Excella said, "Jill, you should be interested to know she died in a struggle with your old parter…what was his name, Albert? Oh," She snapped her fingers, loudly, "That's right! REDFIELD."

Jill dropped her spoon. It clattered on her plate.

Excella laughed a little, "A stupid name. So utterly…plebian. So common. Native American or something, yes? Really just an awful race of people. Running around in animal skins and scalping each other. Hideous. Simply hideous. Of course…they aren't all bad, are they Jill?"

Excella tossed the folder across to her.

It opened as it slid and the photos spilled across the table beside the brie and the fruit plate. Jill looked down at them, her heart HAMMERING. She picked up the first one. A little boy in mid-laugh. A little boy with big violet eyes…and Chris' nose. Chris' chin. Chris' face.

Chris' future.

Jill let the photo flutter to the table. She glanced up. Excella smiled, oh so sweetly, "It seems he killed the mother of his own CHILD. What a heathen! You are better and safer here with us, darling. Yes, you are. Freed from that monster. And his bastard spawn, no less. At least now we know he won't be a threat to you anymore, right? Yes? Fatherhood distracts from personal vendettas it seems. So, this is good news, yes?"

Wesker was a statue.

He didn't move.

He just sat there.

Jill rose. She said nothing. She rose and took the picture on the table in front of her. She left the dining room.

Excella asked, sweetly, "Was it something I said? Oh dear. Albert, I think your pet is upset with me."

Jill didn't wait to hear what he said. She didn't care.

She took a step, another, and started running. She ran down the hallway to her chamber. She hit the button the television there. It crackled and popped. She switched feeds until she found the one she wanted.

The helicopter footage.

And Chris, kneeling on her grave.

The camera panned in. It hovered. She lifted the photo beside it.

The eyes were different.

But the face was the same.

The face was the same.

The face was nearly identical. His child. His child with Jessica Sherawat. His CHILD. Conceived with that carnivorous BITCH. And he'd put her down. He'd killed her. She was dead.

She was dead.

And her child had no mother.

Jill put a hand to her mouth. She stifled the sound of grief. She knew in her soul that he was somewhere hurting. He hadn't known. She knew it like she knew her name. And now?

Now he was alone. Alone. To face the truth of what he'd done.

She put her palm on the screen. On his face as the camera panned down on him in that video. The video she'd watched a hundred times. The video she watched every night when she wasn't…in bed with the devil.

And she whispered, "Chris…I'm still here. I'm still here."

She heard the footsteps. She hit the button the television. She dropped the picture to the floor.

The Devil darkened her doorstep.

"Jill? Are we about to have a…situation?"

She smiled. It was wooden. But it was there.

She said, "No. I'm relieved. If he's busy with a kid, he can't chase us down, can he? He stays safe that way. It works out for everyone. I'll have to thank Excella later for putting my mind at ease."

Wesker studied her face. He considered her. She'd been so very compliant. She was courteous and engaging. She trained and waited, patiently, for his instruction. She was, often times, in his bed without prompting when he sought her comfort at the end of the day.

She was passionate and engaging in the bedroom. She made a fascinating lover. Objectively, she was fulfilling her promise with aplomb.

And yet…

Redfield.

He plagued them. He was stuck in her like something Wesker couldn't begin to understand. The truth was that Excella was doing her level best to show him who "wore the pants". It was juvenile. IT was petty. It was the problem, entirely, with human nature.

From that still harbored love for the boy who'd betrayed her. To the woman who'd created feelings for the tyrant that used her. To the human heart within his mortal coil that refused, it seemed, to quell the obsessive need in him for the girl that astounded him. The human construct was infinitely flawed. Broken.

And it was why Uroboros needed to be unleashed.

He wasn't killing mankind, he was saving it.

His hand lifted and skimmed the smooth skin of Jill's throat. He considered her. And he spoke, perhaps for the first time, to help her – understand – the tyrant she served.

He spoke, and for the first time, his voice wasn't cold. It was – the Captain in Raccoon City who'd stood on the mat with her. He was trying to TEACH her. Jill listened, somewhat rapt.

"Spencer…was a fool. A prideful – eager – brilliant man who believed he could create himself a god in a world where superior humans would dominate the rest." Wesker slid his fingers down to finger the scarab on her chest. "He didn't realize what the truth has always been about humanity…"

Jill watched him, listening.

"Humanity will never be able to find its salvation, Jill. It's beyond hope. Beyond help. The sheer nature of its existence is to devour the weak and leave behind the worthy. I won't continue, Spencer's vision…" He shifted and his hand…slid…down to cup hers.

It was a rare moment…to hold hands with Albert Wesker. Surreal and more than a little unnerving. He tugged her back to the screen where she'd been lingering moments before.

Wesker had no doubt what she'd been watching. He pressed the button and wasn't disappointed.

Jill froze, breathing fast and low. "I…I'm sorry. I was…I was just…"

Wesker studied the studious expression on Redfield's face. The sheer drive of the man was something that had driven Wesker himself to cultivate him for the S.T.A.R.S. He acknowledged it now, into the pregnant silence.

"The existence of Chris Redfied defies the nature of the human condition." He considered it. Studying. Learning. As Redfield rose from the cold ground. As he walked. And Wesker said, "Here. The sister, who ranges herself beside him. The male ally, who chooses to take up his cause. This is all predicated on human emotion, Jill. Noble. Predictable. And unnecessary."

He turned to look at her now. He tried to TELL her the truth of the world where they would rule. "Redfield will pick up the sword and fight, Jill, until he is taken down. Another hero will rise from his ashes. He is a phoenix. He is a noble creature set upon the earth to right the injustices of those who would paint the world in shades of gray where there is only black and white. Ying and Yang are components of a necessary check and balance system. They are – unfortunately – without equal in order in keeping the universe from utter chaos."

On the screen, Chris turned back. His face was cast in shadows of gray and white. He stood in the dull light and looked across the horizon. And she could, as always, feel him there looking for her.

Wesker continued, studying him. "Redfield is…lawful good, Jill. He is expected or required to act. He combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. He tells the truth, keeps his word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice. A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished. It is why…were you to love him, Jill…for a thousand years…it would never right the wrongs you have done to him just by existing."

He took her face now, turning it up to him. The screen behind him flickered and showed a genetic breakdown. Her eyes flickered to it. And back to his face.

"There is no room for Redfield in a world where we will rule, Jill. You think me, evil. But you are wrong. I'm am neutral, Jill, when the world allows it. When the world supports it. And benevolent when those who serve me deserve it. You are still good. Still clinging to the good that wants to love a boy that will never understand you."

He took her arms and turned her toward the screen. She stared at the rotating double helix, watching it split and reform. "Your good is chaotic, Jill. You act on your own. Your conscience directs you with little regard for what others expect of you. You make your own way through kindness…if you can and benevolence…if it allows. You believe in heroes, Jill, but you can't understand laws and regulations when they block your purpose. Your "right". You sat in my office that first day and scoffed at the idea of total obedience. You will NEVER be completely without challenge in you. But you champion those who cannot champion themselves. Your moral compass is your own, even when it means…"

He stroked her hair, petting her. "…even when it means sacrificing the world to save the man you love…and going against the right and wrong of a world that will never understand you."

His hand gestured now, offering…the truth. "Do you see? THIS is the future for those of us who believe the system is broken, Jill. It allows a chaotic world to be right. Uroboros will not create superior humans to rule the inferior."

He put his mouth next to hear and breathed now. And it was…it was something. It was excitement on a man that so rarely showed it. "It will eradicate and eliminate the unworthy. The rest? Will ascend. Will be…fit to exist in a world where we shall rule."

He was excited. Cupped to her back. He was excited. The idea of recreating the human race…it thrilled him. It was his ultimate aphrodisiac. It was his foreplay. He said, "I took you to punish. To use you to be my first creation. But you had the answers in you, Jill. The answers to perfect Uroboros. To perfect the new world. How could I ignore the divine prospect of that? You adapted to the T-Virus. Adapted. It meant you were…like me. Meant to be immortal. Meant to be the first of those who will survive the cleansing."

Jill was frozen. Frozen. Her heart…it was hammering. She whispered, "The cleansing?"

"Oh, yes. Yes. Humans have avoided this winnowing for far too long. I will release my gift, Jill…and watch the world rise from her ashes. I will create a phoenix as well. And it will be…for all time."

Oh, my god. That had always been his end game. It had always been his truth.

He was going to "save" the world with Uroboros. He was going to offer the entire population the chance to find its place in his new world. There was no experimentation here. No test subjects. Not really. He was talking about complete, global, saturation.

He was brilliant.

He was a megalomaniac.

He was insane.

INSANE.

The tyrant. He was insane. He thought he was neutral. Was he kidding? The delusion swirled around her. He believed, with utter certainty, that it was DIVINE right to "save" the world. He believed in this story he'd created...this farce...this lie…that he was the good guy.

If he was the good guy…who was the Devil?

The answer was on the screen again. Frozen there as the video paused.

The man who saw no gray. Who stood in the world and fought for truth and justice. Who was struggling in a place where the rules were turning against him. Where the dark had bled over the right and left too much shadow for him to understand.

Didn't Wesker understand? Could he ever?

It was why Chris needed her. Why she needed him. They balanced each other. She brought the gray into his life and helped him overcome it. She made him stronger by filling the cracks that were made by being blind to the shadows.

He brought the sword into her life and gave her something to fight for. She didn't always believe in what he saw. But she believed…in him. He made her stronger by filling the cracks that were made by being blind to the line that existed to keep the world in balance. The scales of justice. The truth. It rolled around him like nothing she'd ever known.

Bred and built in him by parents that had loved him, guided him, and given him the wings to fly in a sky laden with clouds and lightning. The Phoenix, Wesker had called him. And he was. He WAS. Because he would never stop. Never die. Never go down in flames…without rising again. Until the last of the evil had been banished back into the dark, Chris Redfield would rise again.

Did Wesker think you could snuff that out with a virus?

He could infect the world a thousand times and never stop that kind of good. It wasn't the dark that won. It wasn't. It was the light. Because it would always come. It would always keep burning. And that sheer persistence alone would allow it to win.

Jill whispered now, so soft. So so soft. "Don't you see? Can't you see? The world needs Chris Redfield, Albert."

The first time she'd called him by his given name.

He liked it.

And hated her words.

"The world needs good. It can't exist in total neutrality. It can't. Without balance; anarchy. You can't rule a world built on anarchy. Even you…can't rule in chaos."

Wesker stroked his thumb over her cheek. She shivered, watching him. "The world is already in ruin, Jill. Chaos is often necessary to bring about a reckoning. Utter desolation strips the earth of impurity. It allows the rebuilding to begin."

She kept scanning his face. She was looking for ANYTHING that wasn't calm, convinced, and slightly…righteous. He was righteous. He BELIEVED he was saving the world.

She felt something in her that she'd never felt for him before…pity. She pitied the "god". He was blind. So capable of seeing everything, he was blind here. To himself. To the truth. He was blinded by his own purpose. As a thousand zealots that had come before him, he saw the world as he would make it – and destroyed anything that got in his way.

It was the moment she realized that as he called her the sun that had been eclipsed by Chris Redfield, so was he the twin mirror. HE was the mirror to Chris. Never her. Never. It was WESKER.

They stood on opposite sides of a great divide. The Serpent and the Lion. They reflected each other. Both would never stop, never yield, ever surrender – until the world was created the way they saw inside their souls. One for good: the purity peppered with insecurity, a warrior with a righteous sword of preservation and the One for evil: the chaos of it peppered with totalitarianism, a self-anointed god with a righteous spear of destruction.

And she breathed it, under her breath, "Twin souls."

And her place here became clearer. It crystallized in a moment of clarity so profound, it stole her breath. She was the thing that bound them. The thing that bridged them. The chaotic neutral girl that straddled two worlds. The conduit between two opposing forces. They would meet inside her and tear her apart. They would split her in half and fill her with their power.

Because she had it.

She had both of their powers…inside her.

And for the first time in a long time, she was afraid. Because she didn't know if she would survive it. She didn't know if she would overcome it. And she was afraid their battle for her soul would bring them all down…in flames.

"Just help me, Fergusson. Help me. I'll keep him from scaring the piss out of you anymore. I swear to god."

Fergusson was in the lab. He was nervous and shifting. His coke bottle lenses were thick and foggy. He kept chewing his lips and messing with vials. He gave her the multivitamin regimen Wesker had lined out for her.

Fergusson gave her nervous eyes. And then he shifted and picked up her the little computer on the bed beside her. He tapped a few keys and turned it to face her.

It was her file. She took it, breathing, "Thank you."

"Don't thank me." He squeaked, "You haven't seen what's in there yet."

Jill held his gaze. "Tell me yes about the other."

"…it's a bad idea, Jill. A REALLY bad idea."

"Please. I know you can. You can."

And Fergusson whispered, "I-I-If he finds out…he'll…he'll…" He looked like he might pee himself. "He'll kill me, Jill. And it won't be easy. He'll KILL me."

Jill held his gaze. "I'll get you out of here. I'll get you away from here. I swear to GOD. But I need you to trust me. You have to trust me."

"….ok. OK. You get me killed, I will be PISSED."

He was kinda cute. For a total space cadet. Brilliant, introverted, and missing pieces clearly. She heard Excella call him "retarded". Which showed you how big of a bitch she was. He wasn't mentally retarded. He was potentially an idiot savant though. Possibly high functioning autistic. She wondered if Wesker used him because, in his own way, Wesker was an idiot savant. She pictured him as a strange child.

He was Dexter Morgan – always trying to fit in in a world he didn't understand that would never understand him. Missing…a soul. Jill shivered.

She had to be SO careful of how she played to him. He was fucking brilliant. He was WAITING like a snake to strike and for her to step wrong. She could feel it. She knew it. One misstep and it would all come tumbling down.

Her house of cards was holding in a tornado. Any minute – utter destruction.

She was trying to play the Devil - from his own bed.

Frightening.

Fergusson twisted his fingers. He twined them. He said, softly, "At 2 a.m. every morning, the rear gate is left open for approximately eighteen minutes. This is when Excella has a shipment of the compound for his serum brought in for restocking. Beyond the gate, is a dead zone. The…satellite phone is the only thing that can get a call out. But it's..it's…untraceable. It would be…the only chance. The only way. If he finds you, finds out…"

"I would NEVER throw you under the bus, Fergusson. Ever. EVER. I swear."'

Fergusson held her eyes, blinking rapidly. Like an ugly little frog. Kinda adorable when you got to know him. He was Quint – but cuter and somehow, if possible, weirder.

"If…if he chooses to use the P30…there are ways to counteract the effects. Like…like a failsafe."

Jill studied his face, breathing. "How?"

"Without a constant series of injections, the effects are short-term at best. Doses would need administered every eight to ten hours to maintain maximum control. During the waxing and waning period, the control can be broken by simple human emotion. The receptors in your brain…are the key to overcoming it."

Jill waited, watching him think and move. He paced, nervous.

"The cerebral cortex controls the four senses, right? The front part is the forebrain…or the thinking depot. The Mainframe. It powers our ability to think, plan, make decisions and problem solve. The P30 controls the cerebral cortex. But it's not regulated to be able to properly maintain control of the limbic system."

Jill lifted a brow at him. And Fergusson tried to dumb it down for her. Yep, Quint – but a little cuter.

"The limbic system is…your feeder bar. It's your reward circuit. It links the brain centers that regulate pleasure. Pleasure motivates the human condition, Jill. The limbic system activates to make us WANT to do the things that we hate to bring ourselves pleasure. It's like a hit of a drug, in a way. We crave it. It's activated BIG TIME in drug addicts. But it also offers you a perfect weapon against the P30. Your brain is still firing under the drug. It still can THINK. So, you have to THINK about the greatest pleasure you've ever known. What makes you happy. What makes you whole. Puppies or kitties or sunny days. Whatever brings you joy, Jill. Joy is the key to breaking free from the P30."

Jill held his look. The room was so quiet. "Happiness breaks the spell."

"Happiness breaks the spell."

It was so…storybook. It was so fairytale. To defeat the Devil – they just needed love. They just needed joy. They just needed happily ever after.

Jill skimmed the data now on the screen as Fergusson prepared her next injection. She was better lately. She sleeping and eating. She was taking care of herself. She needed to be strong to keep going here.

But she was losing heart.

It scared her.

She was slipping into the musty caverns of this dwelling of death where she pantomimed life with Albert Wesker. She had started to…if not enjoy…then to encourage his company. It felt like Stockholm Syndrome or something. She didn't love him. She tried to equate that word with him and her brain couldn't even conceive it.

But she was drawn to him.

Like a moth to the flame. Or a little girl trying to touch a tiger.

He was a dominant lover. Commanding. And yet…yet…he often allowed her to lead the way there. He would sit, patiently, almost nonchalantly. She would lift her dress. She would slide onto his lap. He liked to face her. He liked to SEE her.

He didn't give her any choice but to take the false intimacy that he spilled around them. They coupled slow. They coupled fast. He was narcissistic enough to enjoy taking her near mirrors.

Was it her he was watching?

Or himself?

She'd probably never know.

He'd put his hand on her chest and feel her heart while they slid together. He absolutely wouldn't touch her WITHOUT the scarab necklace on her. It was…it was scary. Because it was HUMAN. And possessive. And it scared her.

How long could she play his game without burning herself? How long before she started to question who she was, where she was, WHY she was? She was losing heart.

She needed help.

She needed…just a minute. To be Jill Valentine.

She skimmed the data on the screen some more. It went into details. Her medical history, her vital signs, her antibodies. It talked about the experimentation. It told how he'd…USED her. He'd used his "queen" like a blood sack. Like a fountain. He'd taken from her. He'd stripped away pieces of her for his own personal use.

The testing had leeched pigment from her. It had turned her pale. It had made her a ghost. The ghost of Jill Valentine.

She almost closed the file when she saw it. And she knew what Fergusson hadn't wanted her to see. Her heart hammered. It hammered so badly.

She clicked the little keys. And the report told the story of her death.

The fall had broken her spine in three places. It had broken her neck. She'd fractured her skull and shattered her jaw. Her pelvis had been decimated. He'd clearly rebuilt her from, literally, almost dust. She'd been clinically dead when he'd brought her here.

They'd brought her back through a series of experimental procedures and dumb luck. Her body had started to fix itself which had triggered the closer look into her blood work But on the thirty-sixth day of her cryo-sleep, the report killed her.

It killed her where she sat.

0324

Subject remains in stasis. Substantial hemorrhage began at 0200 hours. Transfusion and exploratory laparotomy revealed complete uterine rupture. Hypovolemic shock occurred during attempted repair. Intense periods of tachycardia and failing blood pressure resulted in failure to contain the repair. Total cesarean hysterectomy was performed at 0245. Double oophorectomy was not necessary and patients ovaries remain intact to prevent early onset menopause. Procedure was done without complications. Patient was returned to stasis in stable condition at 0324.

She was barren.

She was unable to have children. The experimentation on her, the fall through the window, the damage to her body from the resurrection and the recovery…it had left her alive…and empty.

She stared at the tiny paragraph.

And felt the truth of it leave her hollow.

She left the lab. She went up to the Monarch Room. The long dark called to her. He'd brought her back from the dead. He'd taken her body. He'd taken her life. And he'd left her barren.

She didn't have Chris. She didn't have herself. She didn't have anything inside of her anymore…but Albert Wesker.

The torchlight flickered. She turned to find him watching her. The hate for him spilled like something hot and sticky into her. But her face?

Was the empty mirror of his.

He said, "Are you ready to retire, Jill?"

He put out his hand. She put hers in it.

She lay beneath him in the quiet moonlight. His hands, his mouth, his touch – it worked like a virus in her blood. He spilled her into his lap. He plunged between her thighs.

He pressed the scarab into her heart.

She stretched, taking him. It burned, it ached, it brought her mouth open in a small cry.

She was empty inside. Empty. He'd taken it all.

And left her hollow.

She pinned his arms behind his back. She held him down. She used him. She forced the hate of him into his body and out of her mouth on a cry of want. He let her. He always let her.

Be mine – Jill. Mine. And I will give you the world.

But he'd taken the world. He'd taken it. So she took him. She felt him clench, felt him gasp. She put her mouth to his throat…and BIT him.

And his thrusting, burning, giving cock erupted inside of her.

And filled her emptiness with his greed.

In the moment that Jill Valentine discovered she would never be a mother, Chris Redfield discovered he was already a father.

An easy phone call to the orphanage in Astoria had secured the child. Claire had been EAGER to go there and retrieve him. A DNA test was done quickly, quietly, but the results weren't necessary. He knew what they'd say.

The child was his spitting image.

He was standing on his porch, watching the sun roll toward a quiet evening. The white t-shirt he wore was stretched tight and happy across the rolling plains of all the muscles he sported like body armor against the waiting world. But all the muscles, in all the world, wouldn't stop the truth.

It wasn't just about him anymore.

If he found her now. If she were to encroach upon him there, right then, in the dying sun. The evidence of his betrayal would be there with his face and Jessica's eyes to stare at her for all eternity.

All the forgiveness in all the world wouldn't take it back.

She would never love him again.

He closed his eyes. He listened to the wind.

And he felt her.

He kissed one soft breast and the other. And he kissed her…right over her heart. His eyes lifted to her face again. And Chris intoned, low and with feeling, "I will always hold on to you, Jill Valentine. Always. And I won't let go."

She lifted her hips so he could slide her panties down her legs. His arms braced beside her head, her hands curled up his back to hold him, and he rubbed himself against the damp heat of her. She whispered, soft and desperately, "I won't let go either. Chris, I won't let go."

And he said it now, into the quiet air, "I'm still holding on, Jill. I'm still here."

The little red car rolled up the driveway. Dog woofed and circled three times as Claire emerged. She waved, tucking her sunglasses on the dash. Her face.

He hadn't seen her EVER look so happy.

Happy.

Not since the summer before his parents had died.

She was in a little blue sweater and jeans. Her red hair was all kinds of sloppy in a ponytail. She hurried around to the back of the car with a laugh.

"Come on! Come here, you big idiot! Don't you want to see him?!"

He didn't.

He didn't want to see him.

He didn't want him.

He didn't want the kid in that car.

He wanted Jill's kid. And his kid. Their kid. He wanted Jill.

He didn't want a kid conceived with a woman he'd hated. A woman he'd shot between the eyes in cold blood. A kid without a mother. Because revenge had made him cold and empty. Because he was here. He was. But he was empty.

Without Jill.

And the truth of it left him hollow.

Claire pulled him from the car. A fat baby in a blue snowsuit. Or something. A fat kid in a puffy parka. A blue one. Blue.

His hands curled around the railing of the porch. They clenched.

Jill was hurrying toward him with the kid.

No. CLAIRE. Claire was.

He was losing his fucking mind.

The little hood fell back on the fat kid in the parka. And there was a lot of unruly dark hair. Claire hurried up the stairs. She was grinning.

"He looks like Dad! Right? Like you. He's GORGEOUS, Chris. Look at him. And watch this." She wiggled the kid and made him laugh.

He laughed and squeezed her. She blew kisses on his neck. "He's FUNNY. He is always laughing."

Claire said, happily, "I cried. I got there. They brought him in. He waddled right at me. He was gibber jabbering about nothing. He was just making sorta words and not words. And it was your face. And Dad's. And I just started crying. He's perfect right?"

Those violet eyes stared at him. His face stared at him. And it grinned wide and happy.

He didn't want this kid.

He didn't want this life.

He was hollow.

Claire grinned, watching him. "She didn't even give him a name. Isn't that terrible? She was such an uber cunt. The social workers called him CJ. For Chris Junior. Because…you know she dropped your name as the father when she dumped him there. But I've been calling him Kit. You know? Like Mom used to call you when you were little."

Kit.

Claire bobbled him. "He likes Kit. Kit Kit Cookie!" She kissed him again, wetly and noisy. And the little boy was giggling in her arms.

She was so happy.

Claire said, "You wanna hold him?"

He closed his eyes.

And they held eyes for a moment longer as the fear rolled between them. She whispered, softly, "Don't let go ok?"

Chris answered, softly, "Never."

He turned around and went into the house. The door slapped shut behind him.

Claire stood on the porch, frozen. Kit blew bubbles on her cheek and spoke gibberish. Save for his one word that he was good at: "DOG!"

Which worked like a charm. Because Dog was happy to join the party.

Claire petted his floppy ears. Everybody on this porch was happy. So happy.

But her brother?

He was so lost. So lost. How did she help him? She started to open the door to go inside and force him to a confrontation. And the sound beyond the door stopped her.

It was the day he'd found out she'd washed the ballcap and the towel. It was that piercing, punctuating, consuming grief that filled her up with love and pain for him. She heard him wrecking things now and...crying. Wrecking things and grieving.

Wrecking things and dying.

She waited, tears on her face, and kept smiling at the little boy in her arms.

She waited for him to stop. For him to breathe. For him to come back to her.

As the night rolled in and the sun sunk below the horizon, she was still sitting there…and she was still waiting. She would hold all the pieces of his life together for him until he was ready. She'd hold it all together like he'd held her together all those years ago.

Until he was ready.

She smiled at Kit on her lap, playing with her fingers. "So, maybe you live with Aunt Claire for awhile huh? I can throw a football better than a guy. I bake a killer cranapple tart. And I make a MEAN glass of moo juice. We're can do this, my little man. Don't you worry about that guy in there. He's a hard headed idiot sometimes…but he never fails you. You know how I'm gonna get him to turn around? I'm gonna threaten to let Leon Kennedy raise you."

She tried to picture that. Leon - the WORST father of the year. Potentially. Teaching Chris' son how to bang bitches and beer bong. Lord. AWFUL.

"He'll come around, my little man. Just you wait for it. And we'll be right here."

And she was still sitting there until he opened the door…and let her in.

Jill slipped out the gate at the precise moment the truck came to deliver. She hurried into the dark in black. The cloak, the boots, the hat. She blended like a shadow.

She followed Fergusson's directions. She eased through the lab, trying not to excite the subjects in their cages. Goats and dogs and rats. Maybe a wombat? Something.

The lab was empty at this time of night.

Just the test subjects, Jill, and the satellite phone.

She had eleven minutes to use it and get back through the gate.

Her hands grabbed the phone and dialed. Three rings and an answering machine was what she got. She knew he wouldn't answer…not at the time of day it was there.

She waited and listened.

And closed her eyes.

If it's Friday night I'm at the ballgame. If you're callin about the Bronco, I sold it. If you've got something you're trying to sell, you're barking up the tree. I ain't buyin. If it's anybody else? You know the drill…

She almost hung up, afraid of the beep that was coming. She started to set the phone in the cradle. And then?

…And if this is Jill? I'm still here. I didn't let go.

She dropped the phone into the cradle.

She put her hand to her mouth.

She'd been gone for two years. Two years.

And he was still there.

…..

She waited three days. She waited to be sure no one knew. That no one would hurt her or stop her. She waited and she went back.

Stupid.

It was so stupid.

She slid from the bed of the devil like the thief she was. She snuck out. She left the scarab necklace on the dresser in his room. It didn't burn her hand to do it. But it felt like ice.

She hurried out with the truck. She ran through the lab.

And she dialed.

She figured she could hear the message a thousand times a day. And it wouldn't be enough. But it wasn't the same message.

Not exactly.

If it's Monday, I'm probably screening calls. If it's Barry, I don't have your damn cigars, so stop asking. If it's anybody else? You know what do. If you don't? You might be a lost cause.

And her eyes closed. Because, this time? She knew it was coming.

She knew it.

And if this is Jill? I should've listened. I should've fought harder. I'm still here…I'm still holding on.

He sounded so lost. So broken. His voice. It rolled in her blood like some kind of drug.

Like the P30, it stripped away her control. She couldn't help herself.

She almost hung up. But he wasn't done. He wasn't finished.

And P.S.? I still love you.

The phone beeped. She made a small sound and dropped it into the cradle. Her hands covered her face. She shook her head. The heart in her chest tried to break her ribs and spill out all over the outside of her body. Like the lickers in the lab behind her. It left her inside out.

What kind of love was that? The kind that had him leaving messages on his answering machine for a woman who was dead? What kind of devotion was that?

She'd turned him away. She'd turned him aside. She'd let his fear be the excuse but it was never that. It was him.

He'd always been too good for her.

She needed to go back. She was running out of time.

She started to turn…and the phone rang. It jingled. Her heart hammered. She picked it up. She put it to her ear.

"Yeah. I just missed you apparently? You got Redfield. Who's this?"

Her hand pressed so hard into her mouth. So hard. She said nothing. She waited.

"Hello? You crank calling me? My refrigerator is running, P.S. So, that joke is a waste of your time."

She started to set the phone back in the cradle. And his tone changed.

She heard it. She heard it shift.

"….Jill?"

Her breath caught.

And she hung up the phone.

Her watched chimed to tell her she three minutes left.

She ran back toward the gate. She ducked through. She leaned on the wall beside it and breathed.

And a voice sneered, "What are you doing here, Jill!?"

Zhill. It sounded so stupid when she said it. That snooty accent. That stupid face. Jill lowered her hands from her face.

Excella had a gun on her.

A gun.

Jill said, quietly, "Don't be stupid, Excella. I'm not a prisoner here. I was taking a walk."

"During the delivery? Don't be a fool. You were trying to intercept his shipments. You are trying to usurp me. You are trying to steal him. You little twit. You test tube creation. You are NOTHING. You are something he plays with while he awaits the new world. You are plain faced and pale and you can't give him what he needs to rule. He NEEDS me. You? He can make another one of you."

Jill laughed. She just laughed.

She held that angry gaze. "You think he needs you? They say you're a genius. Couldn't prove it by me. He's SMARTER than you. He's already ten steps ahead of you. You're nothing. You're his drug dealer. His pain in the ass. His necessary evil. He takes me to his bed every night, Excella. You know that. I know you do. I know you've been watching. You think you can hold him when he never touches you? Do yourself a favor, and hit the bricks. He doesn't need you. You? He can find another you on any street corner in the world. Whores? A dime a dozen."

The echo of the gun was loud.

It threw her back. She hit the wall.

The blood splattered all over the wall behind her.

Jill lifted her hands. She cupped them over her chest. It gushed red and sticky blood into her hands.

She collapsed to her knees.

Excella aimed the gun at her face. "You stupid girl. You STUPID girl. I should blow your stupid face off. But no. NO. He will not like it. He likes his toys whole. But never forget, you were a fluke. An unfortunate side effect of an experiment. He will tire of playing with you. And you will become nothing more than a puppet – dancing on my strings."

Jill went to her side. The blood spilled red around her.

She heard Excella call out for assistance. She was being lifted. In the tank, Excella told them sneeringly, Put her back in her fucking tank.

And Jill Valentine could feel her heart. She could feel it.

She could feel it as it stopped.

She went down and her mind shivered. She pictured his face. She pictured herself saying something. Saying anything as he'd called back. Anything at all.

She'd said nothing.

Come and find me, Chris. I'm still here.

But she could think it. She could think it. Her heart…she could feel it. The limbic system was telling her she was alive. It was telling her she could still feel joy. It was telling her to keep fighting. To keep waiting. To keep listening.

And to keep talking to him. Even if he couldn't hear her. She felt like, just maybe, he could.

And she thought: P.S. I still love you.


	28. Chapter 28

+Author's note:

Here we go. Getting close to Kijuju. Thanks, as always, for the support on this guy. The updates are coming like rain right now, I know. But that could halt as I get busier at work here. Right now? I'm writing on my phone sometimes on my lunch break. HA!

Lord. I'm so happy from the reactions I'm getting. It spurs me on! Keep it coming!

It's been awhile too soooo….

Disclaimer: All characters (save for Kit and Fergusson and Mira…ok so that list is endless too) are owned by Capcom. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to those living, dead, or undead (*cough*) is entirely coincidental.

Slainte.

XXVIII: The Limbic System

:::::::::::::Twenty-Eight::::::::::

"It was discussed, Claire. He understood it was a possibility. A potential side effect."

"Then STOP GIVING IT TO HIM!"

Rebecca shifted. Quint looked like he might puke. He did NOT handle confrontation well at all.

Claire was in their lab. She had come there seeking answers. Her brother wasn't her brother anymore. He was, by turns, dark and broody or possessed of a violent rage that scared the utter piss out of anyone who got in his way.

Had he died with Jill Valentine?

She couldn't find him anywhere inside the huge shell that was walking around with his face and their Dad's eyes.

Quint squeaked, "We TRIED! Don't you think we tried!? He's…addicted now. He's addicted. He's THE BOSS! We can't say no to the boss!"

Claire glared sharply. She moved to the case where the injections were. And she pantomimed Chris…she did it pretty well, Quint mused, even if it was more GORILLA then Human Tank.

"GIVE ME MOOOORE!"

Rebecca tried not to laugh.

Claire shifted and pretended to be Quint. She squeaked and did the peepee dance. Quint was not amused.

"NO! EEK!"

And now she was Chris again. She puffed out her muscles and chest. "GRRRR! GARRRR! ROAR!"

Rebecca laughed now. She couldn't help it.

Claire said, "He's still my brother. He'll fume. He'll break shit. He won't hurt you."

Quint said, quietly, "Claire…I'm sorry but you don't know that. You don't. They said…they said Jessica Sherawat? Pop." He gestured to his head with his fingers like a gun. "Right between the fucking eyes."

Rebecca shifted, cold. Claire's eyes flickered but she held Quint's look.

Quint finished, "That's…just what I heard."

Claire ground it out now, between her teeth, "She attacked him. He killed her. That's it. That's how it went down."

Rebecca said, quietly, "Claire…he executed her."

Claire spun around to face her. They held gazes. Claire finally laughed, darkly, and shook her head, "You know what? You two? Have no fucking idea what happened. None. You have no right to talk about him like that. To imply that kind of stuff. EVER. Don't you EVER talk about him like that again. He's good. He put this whole organization together to help. He's not Albert Wesker. Don't you DARE talk about him like that anymore."

She shoulder shoved Rebecca as she went by. Which surprised them all.

And she hissed, "Shame on you, Rebecca. Shame on you. You're alive because of him. You ungrateful bitch. You give him any more of that goddamn drug…and I'll come back here and beat the piss out of you both."

She slammed out of the lab.

Quint said, quietly, "You ok?"

Rebecca shifted. She had never seen Claire get mad at her before. It was all falling apart. First Chris – who was so far down the rabbit hole he wasn't even Chris anymore. And now his sister – blind to his addiction and his own implosion. How did she help here? How did they fix it?

Quint queried, "What do we do here? Do we keep giving it to him?"

Rebecca shifted. She held his look. They needed Jill.

They needed Jill to talk some sense into him. But she was dead. She was gone.

So, they had to go with the B-Team. What other choice was there?

She said, quietly, "I don't know. But give me the phone."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know about you, but if he comes in here hopped up on the fucking junk we keep feeding him, two hundred and fifteen pounds of angry muscles and testosterone…you gonna fight him?"

"You kidding?" Quint farted just thinking about it. Rebecca, used to his nervous bodily functions, covered her nose.

"Exactly. I'm not fighting him. And if we give him the shit, Claire will come back here and beat us up."

"We're SCREWED."

They held eyes. Rebecca eyed the Hercules Complex in the cabinet. She said, "Maybe not. Maybe not. We just need somebody that can get through to him right?"

Quint lifted his brows, "You want me to get Barry?"

"Not Barry. Leon Kennedy."

...

The cherry red Ducati 1098 R zipped up the drive, spun out beautifully, and kicked up dust as it stopped. The rider on it threw his leg over and set the helmet on his head on the tail. For most people, removing your helmet would leave you with hat hair. A smashed, limp, static electrified mess that either looked like a drowned rat or stuck up in places like a finger in a light socket.

On this particular soul, none of these things happened. The hair that spilled from the helmet was perfect. It was shaggy and flattering on the handsome face beneath it. The leather riding jacket was black and buttery smooth – knocking back the chill in the air that told the rider it was almost Christmas and much too cold for riding bikes.

He heard the shouting before he ever reached the house. On the porch, a shaggy eared mutt was sitting beside a pack n' play. It was covered in little ducks and geese and camouflage. The pudgy faced kid in it was jabbering nonsensically to the teddy bear keeping it company. It wore a rather adorable brown leather bomber jacket with a BSAA patch on the arm. And a stupid looking hat with tassels and bears ears.

So it was a half decent looking kid anyway.

Leon Kennedy crouched down to look at it.

Clearly, it was male. The coppery skin and big eyes were familiar. Even if the color was wrong on the peepers. The kid grinned up at him. It had a couple teeth in there. It offered him a bite of the cookie it was munching.

"Nah, guy. I'm good. You keep it. Looks like you've made it your bitch anyway." Leon glanced at the mutt, "You got this?"

The dog woofed. Leon scratched his scraggly beard and rose. "Good man."

He said, with a sigh, "I gotta go kick your old man's ass. Sorry to tell you this kid, but your pop? He's a fucking mess. I'm gonna fix it for ya."

Leon heard something shatter. He heard Claire shouting.

Enough of that shit.

He kicked in the door.

It slapped shut behind him.

In the pen, Kit poked the bear with one finger. It jingled musically. He poked it again and it spoke. "Is this thing on? Hello?" Laughter. "Ok Ok. I guess it's on. Right. So…HAPPY BIRTHDAY – You fat bastard! What? Oh. No. Fine. Barry says you're a turd. Anyway – Happy Birthday. You are officially old. Which is totally ok. Because – I kinda like an older guy. Have the best day ever, Red. You deserve it. P.S. I love you."

The bear stopped.

The fighting kept going.

Claire: "WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? STOP!"

The door flew open. The first body thrown out the door hit the railing and flipped over it.

The second came out and put down a hand to vault beautifully over it and land.

Claire came out last, waving her hands.

"GOD DAMNIT LEON! STOP!"

He ducked and Chris swung over his head. A good hit, if it had landed. But Leon caught his arm, swung it to the side, and drilled him three times in his exposed flank with his fist.

He threw an elbow, heard Chris grunt, and jerked on his neck to send him to his face on the ground.

Claire rushed out between them now. She threw up her hands.

"How is this helping?!"

"Claire…he doesn't get to put his hands on you. I don't give a shit about his tortured soul."

"He wasn't!? We're you paying attention!? I was hitting HIM! ME! He's NEVER hit me."

Leon shrugged. He and Chris circled each other now, glaring. Chris spit blood on the ground. Leon smirked a little.

"Can't say I trust a drug addict, Claire. Surprised you do. You're usually smarter than that. You jonesing, big guy? Need a hit?"

Chris leered at him now, rolling his shoulders. "Don't need any kind of shit to kick your ass, Kennedy. It'd be done by now already but I don't like hitting girls."

Leon threw his head back and laughed. "Redfield, you're so full of shit I'm surprised your eyes aren't brown. But, it makes sense I guess, since you're a total asshole."

Even times of great stress, Leon Kennedy could throw down bad dialogue. Some things never changed.

Claire tried again. The sky played into the whole thing by rumbling a little. And big fat snowflakes started to flutter down on their faces.

"Please…he's fine. I got this. Just go ok? Who sent you here?"

Leon grabbed her arm and jerked. He threw her out and away as Chris tackled him.

She let out a cry and Leon an OOMPH. But he stuck his feet down and kept himself upright which…was saying something when hit by a human battering ram.

He threw down two elbows, drove a knee up toward that angry buffalo trying to kill him, and rolled himself up and over his huge back.

To finish it off? He kicked Chris twice in the ass and put him on his face.

Claire threw up her hands, giving up.

She moved up the porch and knelt down. Kit grinned at her and offered her the cookie. She took a bite of the slobbery mess of it and grinned.

Chris rolled over and did a rather nice hip hump that put him back on his feet. It was pretty smooth for a guy who fought like he figured the world could be solved with his fists.

Leon said, "Rebecca called me. She knew I was the only person who'd understand what's happening here."

Claire called, "Oh yeah? How's that?"

And Leon replied, "Because I was hooked on that shit too."

And both Redfield's stopped now.

The confession echoed in the snowy air. Leon laughed a lifted and shrugged.

"That's right. How's that hitcha? The legend over here? Lies. Drugs. I was doped up in Spain. Doped up. I was Lance Armstronging all over that place. Rebecca needed a guinea pig. I needed a half a shot in hell of getting out of there alive. She started shooting me with that shit about once a month for testing purposes BEFORE that, of course. I'd fight against other agents with it…without it…just testing the strength of it. But she needed to know how it worked versus B.O.W.S. So, I took it with me everywhere waiting for the right opportunity."

He shifted, and Chris wasn't trying to hit him anymore.

So, he dropped his fists.

Instead? He lit a cigarette and offered one to the Human Tank.

Chris in a slutty red dress he enormous. Massive. Like a mountain. The drug? Somewhat probably. But more than likely just Redfield. The guy lived in the gym. He hadn't figured out the thing about what they did though, not yet. You couldn't kill everything they face with your fists.

"I ended up in Spain. Things went south. They took my jacket and I woke up in that house with Sera stuck to me. He fled. And me? I looked out into that village and knew I was dead. I was DEAD if I went out that door. One guy against the whole world with a fucking handgun?" He laughed.

Chris glanced at Claire. She lifted a brow.

"You kidding me? So, I took that needle in that case in my leg pocket on those cargo pants and I just…shot myself up. No big deal right?"

And now they held eyes. Two men, two sets of blue. Two different lives spent fighting for nothing. And falling down. And getting fucked up. Of waking up in the dark alone with nothing but a bottle of scotch and nightmares.

And he got it.

Chris just got it.

They were the same.

Leon said, "It's good at first. The rush. You're unstoppable. A human tank. A machine. You don't feel anything or smell it or care. You just keep fighting. Eventually, it leaves you alone in a hotel room with rage so thick and wide you can't understand it. You break shit. Faces, windows…people. You start breaking people you love. Why not? You can't feel it anyway anymore. And then? You wake up one day and you're alone. And no one cares about you anymore either. And the only thing you've got is an empty needle and an empty bed and misery."

Chris was so quiet. So quiet.

Claire kept watching his face. She kept waiting for him to come back. But maybe there was no coming back. Maybe he was already gone.

She was colder than the snow that fell around them.

Leon spoke again. And she'd never, ever, heard him talk like that. So, soft. Gentle. Not pity. But understanding. It wasn't the first time she thought about how in love with him she'd always been.

They were all such good liars. Weren't they? Except for Chris. Who wore his truth on his sleeve like a heart. Jill was there. In the air, in the cold, in his face. She was what he was running from. And running toward. And trying to fight for.

She was going to get him killed.

And she was already dead.

And Leon said, "It won't bring her back."

Chris shifted.

"It won't bring her back, Chris." The first time he'd ever called him anything other than Redfield. Ever. "I know she was something special. I know you loved her. I know you love her now. But killing yourself? It won't bring her back. But it may kill your sister."

That worked. Whatever else didn't. That WORKED. Claire was the trigger. She was the rock bottom. He needed to hit it – and get up again.

"Stop hurting her. Stop hurting yourself. Stop trying to die with Jill Valentine. If she's still out there? If she's there? She's ashamed of you. I knew her pretty well."

And now that face. It was something else. Something raw.

And Leon said, "Yeah. I knew her like that. It wasn't ever anything more than that. Just a good time. With a good girl. Lots of laughter in that girl. She was fun. She was smart. And she was so in love with you that any other guy? No shot in hell."

Claire shifted on the porch like she'd come down it. Because Chris? His face just collapsed. Like Leon had punched him in the heart. Leon lifted a hand to her. Holding her back.

"Yeah. It's like that. It feels like that. She worshipped you. Thought you were a hero. Don't stand there and dishonor her, Chris. Don't. We keep fighting. We get up. And we keep going. It's how we honor the people that believe in us. It's how we make sense out of what doesn't make sense. You can't do anything about what happened to Jill. It's done. But this? This you can control. STOP THIS SHIT. For your sister who can't afford to bury another person she loves. For your kid over there that needs a father. For Jill – who either died saving you or is out there somewhere waiting for you to find her. Either way, that shit your shoving into your neck every day? It's not the answer. You don't NEED it. You don't need it. TRUST me."

Chris shook his head. He speared his hands through his hair and yanked. He shouted so loud it echoed over the empty sky. "I can't fight HIM without out! Don't you get it!? He's NOT HUMAN! I CAN'T STOP HIM! I NEED IT!"

Leon shifted now. He took two steps toward him. Claire made a sound. But it was ok. It wasn't about fighting anymore.

He lifted a gloved hand and gripped. They gripped forearms in the snowy wind. And Leon said, "You don't. You don't need it. You're Chris Redfield. And you're not alone anymore. I will help you stop him. I will help you find her. I swear to god I won't stop until we do. But you have to stop too. Stop using that shit. Stop hurting your sister. Stop hurting yourself. Or else? I will kick your ass until you can't get up again. And you can shove that shit into your neck all day long. I'm still better."

Chris spoke softly now, in the heavily falling snow. "How do I stop it?"

Leon answered with fat snowflakes on his eyelashes. "I will help you. But she goes."

Claire shouted now, angry. "You kidding me!?"

Leon answered, "He's gotta detox, Claire. It'll be ugly. It's ugly. I did it alone in a hotel room over three days. I handcuffed myself to my own bed."

Chris lifted a brow and Leon laughed, shaking his head. "Not nearly as fun as it sounds. No hookers. No coke on the ass. Just me, pissing myself and screaming."

And now Chris laughed a little. Leon clapped him on the shoulder.

Claire stood there owl eyed as they did a one-armed man hug. Leon patted his back a little.

He said, "Claire goes. Let her take the kid for a little while. And I'll help you."

Chris nodded a little bit. They kept on gripping forearms. And he said, softly, "I won't forget what you've done for me for Claire. Ever. But this has to be said too."

Leon lifted a brow, waiting.

"She's been in love with you as long as I've known you. You say you don't know that I'm gonna think you're the dumbest fucking guy I've ever met."

Leon held his gaze. A long moment passed.

And he said, "I know that. I've always known."

Claire was frozen there on the porch. Kit blubbered and kissed her mouth sloppily. She smiled and snuggled him close.

And Leon Kennedy said, "There's two types of people in the world: Redfields – and the rest of us."

Chris said nothing, watching his face.

"The rest of us? We have a little trouble being good enough for the Redfields."

Chris kept on holding on to his forearm. He was quiet for a long moment as the snow kept coming down, harder and thicker. "You're good enough. More than. Stop fucking bar skanks and get your shit together. Help me kick this shit. Help me find her. And stop being a fucking coward."

He let go and started up the porch. Leon shook his head and followed.

He passed by Claire and she grabbed his leather clad elbow. Kit spouted gibberish at them…and then he turned and kissed Leon on the nose.

Her face lit up into a huge grin.

Leon looked less amused. He made a face…that made the baby laugh. And then? He winked.

Claire said, quietly, "I'm on to you, Leon Kennedy. You big faker."

He shifted his gaze to her face. The baby babbled happily and kissed Claire on the ear. He shouted, "DOG!"

And Claire laughed again, "He can be. No lies there…and yet here he is. Taking care of my stupid brother. What kind of dog does that?"

And Leon held her eyes in the cold gray air. He lifted his hand and cupped her face. She felt her heart stutter and fall right out her ass. And he said quietly, "The loyal kind."

His thumb swept her mouth. The kid in her arms giggled.

And Leon said quietly, "You trust me to do this?"

Claire replied, softly, "I've never done anything but trust you."

"Yeah. Redfields…nothing else in the world like 'em." He pulled her face up to him and kissed her.

Her hand shifted up his arm and held. A good kiss, she thought madly, soft and deep. A good beginning.

He let her go. He winked.

And he left her on the porch with the baby.

Claire put her hand over her mouth, shivered, and laughed. She looked at the baby in her arms, "What do you think? He's something huh?"

And Kit yelled, "POOP!"

"You got that right kid. No one in the world is full of more shit then Leon Kennedy."

Claire kept on laughing. For the first time in a long time, she felt the shiver of hope that everything would be ok. It would be ok.

She looked out into the turbulent winter sky…and she wondered if Jill was looking out at the same one.

As Chris Redfield started detoxing off the drug that had been controlling his life, Excella Gionne stood in the lab with Albert Wesker discussing the drug that would control Jill Valentine.

"I want you to start using it on her, Albert. You promised. You said if she disobeyed, you would handle her."

Wesker was looking at her floating in that tank. Excella had been unapologetic about shooting her. She'd been outright defiant. He was considering how best to handle the situation here. In a few months, the tumblers would all be clicked in place. The timing would be right, finally, for the final push. The stockpiles of Uroboros being assembled were coming along nicely.

He had a scheduled ground zero date set in March. The cogs in the machine were turning nicely. The leak would have turned the eyes of the BSAA to Africa. He would lure Redfield to Kijuju. He would take care of him there and be done with it in time for Uroboros to change the world.

Jill would be without Redfield.

And finally, be ready to sit beside him.

Redfield would get rid of Irving for him. Excella would finally fulfill her usefulness. All the pieces were in play. The board was ready.

The only piece still in flux was the Queen.

She was still holding on to the past.

The tie needed severed. How?

But, of course, he knew the answer to that question. It was simply a matter of using the King to come against the Queen on the board. The answer to who would kill Chris Redfield?

Was Jill Valentine.

How?

Wesker smiled a little, watching Jill open her eyes and begin to fight the respirator in her mouth. The answer to that was the game itself. The purpose of the whole battle. The coup de grace. The penultimate move.

He said, into the air that was punctuated by the whoosh of liquid draining from Jill's stasis chamber, "What else? Checkmate."

Jill was sucked into the tube and out into the lab for recovery.

Wesker turned to face Excella now. He studied her in the low lighting. She was tapping her foot endlessly. Her silver and peach organza gown she wore was haute couture. Her ankles were wrapped in five-inch spikes with crystals. She was lovely. Her hair was left long and curling today and her makeup flawless.

Lovely.

And deadly.

Like a siren.

He shifted toward her. She waited, angry face. His gloved hands lifted and cupped her face. He turned that flawless complexion to the light. His touching her seemed to mollify her somewhat.

She wiggled closer to him, cooing.

His thumbs stroked her porcelain cheeks.

Excella whined, quietly, "I don't understand why you keep her. Let me pleasure you. Let me show you what I can do. A stupid girl like that. I don't understand. She's trying to RUIN us. Don't you see? She wants you to get rid of me. Why? So, she can have you for herself!"

Amused, Wesker petted her face a little more. She sighed, like a dog being soothed. She yearned. He could smell it on her. She was so obvious.

Even still, the differences between her and Jill were startling.

Of the two, Excella was the more beautiful. Without question.

The simplicity of Jill Valentine's face and form was natural, girl next door. Lovely, beautiful with the proper urging, but forgettable. It was why she'd always been eclipsed by Redfield. She was often overlooked.

But what lay beneath the face and body?

Excella was hollow. A shell. A mockery. Fashion and ambition and boredom. A spoiled rich princess too smart for common place shops and being the arm candy of a powerful man. She was seeking something to satisfy that brain of hers that was misplaced in such a shallow package.

She'd developed the PG67A/W for him. She was brilliant. She was a geneticist by blood and ability. She understood Uroboros, the vision, the need. She was his strongest ally and biggest supporter.

She was nothing to him.

A stepping stone. A toy. A piece of a greater puzzle. She was Birkin. She was Spencer. She was Marcus. She was Irving. And Wong.

AND REDFIELD.

She was Chris Redfield. Necessary…and disposable.

Wesker kissed her mouth. This made her so happy she nearly peed herself like some kind of puppy. She was always so eager.

He'd let her touch him physically at first. It perpetuated the image she wanted. It brought her to his side. His body was pleased with her as a lover. It enjoyed her whore's mouth.

It hadn't been interested since Jill had come to his bed.

Jill was never…compliant in bed. Not entirely.

He could ALWAYS sense her distaste for him. Her distrust. Her reluctance to find pleasure. The twin bolts of desire for her came from knowing she came to him against her will and came FOR him against her will. It was one more way to own her.

She likely thought she was keeping him in her pocket with her body.

Humans.

The amount of emphasis put on sex. Always a predictable advantage to use it to destroy them. He used it now, to mollify Excella. And to make his point here.

"Jill – is an experiment. A volatile one. I keep her in line. I do this for the vision we share between us. I do this for the purpose. When it is done, if she does not follow the purpose, Jill will no longer be of use to me. Do you understand?"

It was how he calmed her without lying. He didn't feel it was necessary to say that Excella wouldn't either. He had a sample of Uroboros waiting for his benefactress. When the time was right, of course.

Excella grabbed his wrists, turning her face into his palm. "You're saying she is temporary. She is nothing. She is nothing to you."

He smiled. And she was so blind. Couldn't she see the cold behind it? The disinterest? No. She was human. Blind. Ignorant. Looking for love in all the wrong places.

"I am saying she is nothing to YOU, Excella. Do not trouble yourself with her anymore." He pulled her to him by her face now, and his tone lowered, "Do not trouble ME with attempting to finish her again. Do not get in my way for the plans I have laid out, Excella. You will not find me so…complacent if I must tell you so again."

Excella shivered. She whispered, "She was outside the gate, Albert. Outside it. Why? The SHIPMENT! She was trying to stop it. Or steal it. Or send it away. She's trying to control you. Why else was she out there? She can't get out that way. There are guards everywhere and Majini. So many, beyond it. There's nothing else out there. Nothing."

Wesker released her face. He stepped back. He smiled a little and started away.

Fergusson was bringing Jill awake now.

He wanted to be there when she woke. It was time for a discussion.

And he said, "Yes, there is. There's a phone."

Excella considered, watching him move. She couldn't see his game here. She couldn't understand the purpose of keeping Valentine around. The girl was a nuisance on a good day. Perhaps she had Pg67A/W in her snatch.

Jill was lying on her back. She stared up into the swirling lights above her. Fergusson was worrying his fingers, looking down at her. "You're ok?"

Jill laughed now. It was dry. It was so sad. She shook her head. "I'm still here."

I'm still here.

"…Wesker is coming."

He all but ran for it.

Jill waited until the Devil stood above her.

He offered her a hand up. She took it, sliding her legs to the side on the table. She watched him, waiting for it.

He didn't disappoint her. He said, quietly, "How is Chris?"

Jill held his gaze. She shook her head. "The scarab. Right? It's a GPS tracker."

Wesker held her amused gaze. He said nothing.

"Of course, it is. Of course. Lord. I'm screwed. You'll never really trust me. You'll never really trust anyone. Why don't you just kill me? You've already got everything you need from me. Take all my blood and be done with it. Stalking me, creeping around, that's not a partnership."

Wesker crossed his arms over his chest. "And yet you sneak off to call your old partner. Twice. But you admonish me about trust. Why should I trust you? You would leave with Redfield tomorrow if I allowed it."

She held his eyes now. Hard. "No, I wouldn't. I meant it. You ever seen Beauty and the Beast? I agreed. I stayed. I can't wash away everything about my life because you ask. You can shoot me full of shit. You can do that. You can control my body. But you can't make me love you. You can't make me not love him. It doesn't work that way."

She shook her head and slid off the table. "You said not to tell him where I was. You said not to run away. I did neither. He doesn't know a damn thing. I won't do it again. Your girlfriend shot me in the chest for it. Whatever else you've got at this point? This is as low as I get."

Jill shifted in the hospital gown. She slid her hands up his chest and fisted them there in his suit. And she said, "I'm still here."

I'm still here.

"I've kept my end of the bargain. You've kept yours. We've been dancing around each other this whole time. Lying. Pretending. You want my loyalty? You offer me more than your dick. Give me the real you. All of it. I want to KNOW you. Chris? He let me IN. LET ME IN."

His hands lifted and tilted her face up to him. He pulled her to her tip toes. And spoke against her mouth. "Come with me. Let me show you what you will be ruling over. Let me show you what I can offer you. Forget Chris Redfield. And never turn against me again."

His hands slid down. He cupped her under the hospital gown and lifted. She went, legs around his waist. He laid her back on the cold steel cot and put his mouth to her neck.

She rolled her hands into his hair. She turned her head to the side as he bit down the column of her throat.

The mirrored wall reflected them back. The beautiful couple. So blonde, so perfect, so passionate. His hands on her. His mouth on her. He stripped the hospital gown from her.

His hands molded, scolded, promised and punished. He was rough. And he was never rough. He put his teeth to her. She bowed, gasping.

The muscles of him told the story of caring for his physical body. The perfect chest, the muscled torso, each divet, each curve. He was beautiful. Was it any surprise? The Devil would need to be to tempt you.

Let me in, she'd said, and meant it.

On one hand – she needed him to tell her all about him. On the other – she was morbidly curious about him. He was a study in contradiction. He blew hot, he blew cold – he lost interest and kept it for no reason at all. Why her? Why?

She wanted to know why.

Her body pulsed, telling her she close. The wet slide of him inside of her opened her mouth on a gasp. He never wore the glasses now. Never. He took them off when he touched her.

She'd rolled one night and offered him her back. He'd turned her around.

He only wanted her to watch him when he touched her.

It was possessive.

He shifted her body and plunged. It was harder now. Harder. Faster. He was no longer even trying to be mortal. He angled her against him and hammered into her so hard it brought her mouth open in a scream.

The pleasure and pain of it hit together. It echoed out of her mouth in sound absorbed by his. Hit tongue, his body, his hands. They took her in a way he hadn't before. He was trying to punish her? He was trying to punish them both?

It was something.

She actually cried, "Stop!"

And he didn't. He held her down with his hand in hers. Her body opened. It took every impossibly fast, deep, continuous thrust of him. It ached. It throbbed. And she understood. She understood.

He was showing her what he could do.

What it was like…to fuck a god.

She keened, high and loud. He stopped pretending to be a mortal man making love to her. He just..stopped. And became the tyrant.

He killed her with his body.

The pain washed away on the first heavy slap of orgasm. She bucked while he rode her through it. One hand pinned to her collarbone, the other guiding her hips to his while he thundered into her. She cried out and took it, screaming, jerking.

It was too much, too hard, too deep. It was pain, pleasure, raw greed – he shoved it into her like a spear. It burned. It bled. Her hands lifted to grab at him, to hit at him, to pull him closer.

And her heart?

Her heart….

He tried to rip her apart. He tried to split her in half. Her body rode the hard drive of him and craved it. It was too much. It was too deep. There was nowhere left inside of her for him to go. She couldn't look at him. Not now.

Not anymore.

Her eyes closed. Her face rolled away. Her body kept on racing toward that pain.

He shoved the orgasm into her like a weapon. Like a weapon meant to kill. It burst her apart in bloody, hate filled, needy chunks. She went half off the steel cot, trapped by the wall and the metal.

His hands shifted, bracketed her. He put one on her shoulder, the other to her hip – and kept on going.

Her body bowed, bucking, her mouth screaming. The heavy length of him tore her apart. It plunged and pushed. Her body took it in and kept on taking it. Wet. Everywhere. Wet.

She screamed. And she was there.

She was there.

It hurt. She came so hard it hurt her. It broke out of her on a shuddering moan. Her body kept flopping like electrical currents were passing through it.

His hands shifted, jerked, and spilled her up against him. She went, boneless, dying. And her legs wrapped around his flanks on their own. He lifted her, lowered her, lifted and lowered her on him. Her hands grabbed for him, slapped on him, and cut up his back with her desperate nails.

He grunted, fucking her harder. Like he'd heard her beg for it. It echoed in the room like a shot.

She squealed.

There was no other word. She squealed. It was high and loud.

And he was done.

He jerked her down on him and gave it back to her. The wet.

He gave it back.

Her head lifted, her body was curled around him. Her hair was sweaty and stuck to them. He held her around him like a monkey. She could see her self in the mirror behind him now.

Her flushed faced. Her dilated eyes. Her sweat slick skin.

Two seconds later, it was utterly painful. Nothing but pain. Her body told her it was abused. It said it was bad.

And her heart….her heart…

Her eyes closed. Her body collapsed around the Devil and curled.

And her heart…

He came back in the bedroom, naked and fucking awesome with it. He picked her up in his arms, said nothing, and took her into the bathroom where he proceeded to set her, gingerly, in a mound of bubbles and hot water. It felt, amazing.

He knelt, skimming her hair back with his hand. He said, "Better?"

And that. THAT. That was why she loved him. Why she loved Chris Redfield. He was all proud that he'd fucked her so hard he'd left her broken…kinda. And he was taking care of her now. What a squish.

Her eyes slid open. And the Devil carried her from the cold steel room.

There was no bath waiting. There was no Chris waiting.

Just emptiness….and regret.

The cold embrace of the damned.

The cold embraced the cabin. It snuggled it in the bosom of winter and left the driven snow in white wonder around it. The fireplace pumped heat into the house and smoke into the air outside.

The fire wasn't the only thing roaring.

"I SAID TO GIVE IT TO ME!"

He was soaked in sweat. He was pale. He'd vomited twice. He'd kicked and shouted and cried.

He was curled on the floor at the foot of the bed around himself like a fucking baby. Like a coward. He was shaking and shivering. He was sweating and raw.

And he was tired of it.

"You're not getting it. This is it, Chris, this is the fight. It's fucking bad. It's fucking awful." Leon knelt in front of him. He grabbed his face in both hands and held on. "It gets better. You get off this floor and you'll be ok. Or you stay here and scream until it stops hurting. But you're not getting it. And you're so far down now you can't even fight me for it. You can't fight me when you're not detoxing and weaker than piss. You think you can take me on now? I'll put you through that fucking window behind you. And you still won't get it."

Chris' hands came up. They curled around Leon's wrists and held on. He clenched his hands around those wrists and shook while the waves of it raced over his body and tried to kill him.

It was the worst fucking pain he'd ever known.

Ever.

Like Jill dying over and over and over again.

The pain of it came out of his mouth in a roar.

It shook the room.

"Kennedy! I'm gonna KILL YOU!"

And Leon laughed, holding on. "You wish, you fat sack of shit. You wish."

The quest for Jill Valentine had taken two unlikely heroes and made them friends. Friends. The meat head jock and the girly haired prima donna. It would have been comic if it wasn't true.

The pain of it rode into Chris and ripped a sound from him that left the blood cold. It burst him into tiny, hate filled, bloody chunks of need. The body wanted the fucking drug. The drug would make the pain go away. It would replace the grief with RAGE and POWER. It was right there.

He just had to push Kennedy away and grab it.

RIGHT THERE.

And Leon said, "You give up now, I'm gonna tell everyone I'm tougher than Chris Redfield."

Defeated, Chris slumped. He let the waves come now. They hit him full blast and threw him into the wasteland of withdrawal. He went down hating Leon Kennedy.

And hating Jill. Hating her.

Because she wasn't there waiting.

Just emptiness…and regret.

He rolled over and realized he was on the couch in the living room.

He was covered by a blanket. The clock was ticking somewhere. It was early afternoon, based on the light coming in from the windows.

He shifted where he lay, weak, tired. But clear.

His head was clear.

The fog on his brain was gone. The shield of power was gone. He was as much him as he was ever going to be. He ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath.

Lord, he was weak. He was desperately afraid he wasn't just weak from purging and withdrawing for three days. But that he was just feeling, again, what it felt to be mortal.

The phone went off. The machine picked up.

Kennedy was sleeping in the armchair beside the fire. The respect for him fairly choked Chris to death. The skinny guy had balls. No lie there. He'd stuck. He could have run. He'd stuck and saw him through it.

Chris rolled to his feet and moved to the phone. He picked it up. He hit the *69 button and called the number back. He didn't recognize the exchange on the caller I.D. Foreign of some kind.

It rang. And was answered.

"Yeah. I missed ya. You got Redfield. Who's this?"

The silence dragged out. It was interesting. Chris glanced again at the odd exchange. He fumbled a pen and a pad of paper and wrote it down. His heart…

His heart…

He intoned, so quietly, "…Jill?"

There was no answer. Just a…gasp. And the phone went silent.

Kennedy was stirring in the chair.

Chris turned to look at him, the phone still held in his hand.

Leon nodded, "I heard you."

"I need this number traced."

And Kennedy rose to take it. "Give it here. Give me five minutes."

Chris set the phone back in the cradle. His heart was racing. It was trying to burst out of his chest.

Leon came back from the porch. He offered the paper with the number back. He held that look. "Where did Jessica say Irving was?"

Chris tilted his head, just a little, watching Leon's face. "Africa. Why?"

"Because that call came from Africa. And a town called Kijuju."

Claire stood in her little kitchen. Kit was sleeping in the crib she'd set up for him in the living room.

She had her arms crossed. She was pacing.

"You can't let him go. He's not ready. You have to go with him."

Leon was leaning on the counter, sipping his coffee. The cold morning had settled around her little house. Cozy. With family pictures everywhere.

Redfields, Leon thought, no one else on Earth like 'em.

"No."

Claire stopped pacing, surprised.

"What?"

"He doesn't need me anymore. This? It's something he needs to do alone. ALONE, Claire. I can't protect him from whatever is there. He has to face it."

Claire shook her head. She was so mad. "Then I'll go with him."

Leon sighed a little. Patient. Calm. He watched her worry herself half to death.

"He's not ready. He's so lost. He's not ready!"

"This is how he finds himself, Claire. This is it. He's off the sauce. He's himself. He's ready. Let him go. Let him go and stay here and take care of his kid. That's what you do now. It's the right thing."

"And what about you? Where are you going? Some outbreak? Some mess that needs the best? Where are you going while you give me speeches about staying behind? Hmm?"

He set down his coffee. He stepped into her. She backed up, surprised. Her back and butt bumped the counter. She opened her mouth, his hands came up, and he put his tongue in her mouth.

It...she...

Her head went...plop...and landed in the sink.

She'd heard, of course, about him. She'd heard plenty. She'd been his best friend so long she'd always, always, wondered. Well...there it was. He angled her body, he shifted somehow, and she was just...MOLDED against him.

Plop.

Claire made a little desperate sound and tried to eat him. Like a ravenous sex starved zombie. She had her hands up his shirt and stuffed into his pants and all over his ass. It was like being groped by a horny tornado.

It made him laugh a little as he leaned back.

"I'm not going anywhere, Claire. Wherever you are? That's where I am."

Jesus.

Her heart...

She tried to pull him back.

He started off down her hallway.

She called, breathlessly, "Where are you going?"

His hands reached up. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. "I'm going to bed." It was 8 a.m. He turned around to face her. "You comin?"

His fucking body. It was like sex and skin and being drunk or something. He undid the buttons on his jeans. Her belly went out her butt. Her hands were throwing off clothes like they were on fire.

Claire whispered, "Cheese and rice."

She was still in her pants. But enough was enough. It was time to get him. It was time to be the girl that chased after Leon Kennedy.

Claire nearly tripped kicking off her shoes to race after him. He was laughing, laughing, as she leaped around his front and he swung her into the bedroom...kicking the door closed behind them.

There was no more laughing in the bedroom...just alot of squeaking bed springs.

And the pounding of Claire's heart.

"Where are we?" Jill was lying in his arms. The night was long around them.

He stroked the curve of her spine. The scarab lay against her chest. He rubbed it, looking into the dark above the bed.

"Does it matter?"

She rolled her face against his chest. She listened to the sound of his heart. It beat like a man...but he was a monster. A tyrant.

And she was in his arms.

"Not really. But I'm curious."

He waited so long she didn't think he was going to answer. But then he did. And surprised her. "Africa."

Jill nodded against his chest.

And then she waited for it. The feeling of it. The pain of it.

As she lay in bed with the Devil, she felt the pain of it in her heart.

In her heart.


	29. Chapter 29

+Author's note:

Well...this one killed me. I think I killed myself. I cried, writing my own story. What does that tell you about what I put into it? What a girl I am. I played with Capcom's barbie dolls and made myself cry. Aha! :3

Slainte.

XXIX: P.S. I LOVE YOU

:::::::::::::Twenty-Nine::::::::::

There was no way to know when they'd nail down a drop point in Kijuju. No way of knowing. There was, as Jessica had said, a change of regime happening there. A political coup indeed. Someone had set up a new power in Kijuju.

Something stunk in Denmark.

Chris came out of the shower one evening to Claire in his kitchen.

The highchair had the kid in it.

The kid stopped hitting peas to look at him. Chris looked back, unblinking. The kid considered him, grinned, and threw the spoon.

It clattered on the floor.

Chris smirked a little and picked it up. He washed it in the sink and gave it back.

Claire turned away from the stove where she was making soup. She figured it was time. Head down, balls out, no bullshit.

"I need Kit to stay with you for a few days."

Chris stopped with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. "What?"

Claire pressed on, "I'm going away. For a few days. I need you to keep him."

"No." Chris set down the coffee. He started out of the kitchen.

Claire grabbed his arm. She held on, eyes hard. "He is your son. You SON. Whether you want him, whether you don't, whether you lie and deny. He is YOURS. Don't do this. Don't be this guy."

"…what guy?"

"The fucking guy who doesn't raise his kid. The kind of guy who raised Jill Valentine."

Oh, Jesus Christ.

That worked.

He jerked like she'd slapped him. She softened, just a little, "Jessica was a bitch. A traitorous snake. Her kid? Not. Not a snake. A baby. Yours. And hers. Be his father. Be his FATHER, Chris. Because I see Dad when I look at you."

Her voice broke, hurting him. She pressed on. "I see Dad in you. On you. Your face? Dad. Your heart?"

She pressed her palm on his chest. "Dad. And Mom. And me. And…Jill."

She grabbed the back of his neck with the other. His hands came up to grab her biceps. And hold on. And Claire said, "And Kit."

He shook his head.

She pulled him down until their foreheads were pressed together. She watched him break and hurt and resist. Her brother. All heart.

She whispered, "And KIT. You SON. You son, Christopher. Yours. I need you to keep him. Just for a few days. Just a few. Please."

Chris let out a shaky breath. He answered, so softly, "I don't want to."

And it broke her heart.

"I know that."

"I don't want to love that kid."

Oh, god. Her brother. All pain.

Claire shifted her hands. She skimmed his face now, sweeping her thumbs over his cheeks. "Why?"

And he answered, brokenly, "He's not Jill's."

Oh, my god.

Claire dragged him in. All two hundred fifteen pounds of him. She dragged him in and held him like a baby. He fell apart. He just…fell apart. It was so awful. Worse than the rage. Worse. Because the rage hadn't been him. Not entirely. It had been what was left when he buried his heart.

She'd always said it. That he needed to FEEL it and move on. Feel it. That's how you said goodbye.

Time should have healed him. It should have. But it hadn't done much healing. He was still…broken.

Claire held on. He sank to his knees in the kitchen. He put his face against her belly. She wrapped her arms around his head and held on. She curled herself around his head, humming. She cried into his hair. She kissed him. And she held on.

It felt good.

Which sounded odd. But it FELT GOOD. Like he was finally feeling it. Like he was finally letting it kill him. That was GOOD. He was Chris Redfield again. The guy who felt everything. And just kept on going.

When he was quiet, so quiet, Claire stroked his hair. She knelt and cupped his face.

"Listen to me…" Her thumbs swiped away the last of the tears. She smiled now, so softly, "If Jill had died…in a car crash. Or of cancer. Or on a Tuesday afternoon getting the mail. It wouldn't change anything. Nothing. She'd still be dead."

Chris shook his head. "She's not dead."

Oh, lord. He was so stubborn.

"Ok. But she's gone. She's gone. But you're not. You need to have a life, Chris. A real one. Without her. It's the way it is. It's life. Live it. She'd want you to. You know that. You think she'd want you to turn that kid away? That kid over there? You know Jill to be the type to blame the kid for the parents? You fucked a girl, you got her pregnant. She had a kid. You did that."

He shifted.

"Yeah. It's gotta be uncomfortable. That's ok. But it's done. Get up. And love that kid."

Claire stood up. She pulled him up too. "Get up and love that kid, Chris. Because it's who you are."

She turned away. She picked up her suitcase. There was a box of diapers and bottles and various things by the door. She'd brought the whole she-bang.

He rose, feeling somehow better then he had in a long time. A good old fashioned purge.

"Where are you going? Work?"

"No." Claire shifted. She eyed him. It was as good a time as any. She said, "I'm going away to a love nest for a few days."

Chris dropped the bottle in his hand. It hit the ground and rolled.

Claire lifted both brows. "What?"

"With whom?!"

And now she laughed. "Who else? Carlos!"

And now he looked disgusted.

Claire chuckled again. "With Leon Kennedy, you big squish. Who else?"

He kept staring at her.

Claire stared back.

He waited.

She waited.

He said, "You fucking serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Chris felt like someone had slapped him upside the head with a dumb stick. He shook himself like a dog coming out of water. He was so confused.

"When the fuck did this happen?"

Claire chortled. She swung her purse over her shoulder. "Well…you might have heard this story. But I'll tell you anyway. Nineteen ninety eight was the year it happened. I'll never forget it. The Umbrella Pharmaceutical Company conducted research into ex—"

"Shut up, you little brat. You know what I mean."

Claire laughed again, amused. "While you were sleeping, my handsome brother. Welcome back to being awake. I'll see you in a few days."

She didn't even look back.

She just left.

He wasn't sure if he should be punching Kennedy in the face or giving him a hug. What an odd feeling this was.

Chris turned away from the closed door.

Kit was watching him.

Chris said, "You still hungry?"

Kit eyed him. He considered. And he said, "DOG!"

Along came Dog from the bedroom. He flopped happily on the floor by the highchair and started eating the victims of Kit's war on peas. Chris stood there, dumbfounded.

Well…clearly he had to care for the kid now. There was no one else.

He said, "Ok. Let's…it's a few days. Right? Just a couple. So, we work together? And this gets done."

He eyed the kid a little. "You talk? Like at all? Besides dog."

Kit smashed some peas, eyeing him. His dark hair was kinda soft and shiny. It was also a little too long. It reminded him of Leon Kennedy.

Chris said, "I don't like the hair. So, what do you say we cut that girly mop off?"

Kit said, "POOP!"

And Chris had to laugh. He had to. "I would. Really. But I just did before you got here. So, I'm good."

Kit shifted in his seat. He looked a little upset now. He said, "Care."

Oh.

Likely he wanted Claire.

Chris said, "She's gone. Just me. You want…out of your seat or what?"

Kit nodded.

"Ok. Cool. So…you can communicate. That's good." Chris picked him up from the seat. He dusted him off. And then he looked at him.

Kit wiggled a little and Chris realized he was kinda holding him like a sack of potatoes. So he pulled him in against his chest instead. Kit poked his nose.

Chris smirked a little. "Not my best feature. Thank my Dad for it. You have it too, clearly. So, that sucks for you."

Kit said, "Sucks."

"Well…we're off on the wrong foot, clearly."

Kit frowned. He poked out his bottom lip. He said, tremulously, "Care."

Ah.

Shit.

Chris jostled him a little. And the kid?

The kid laughed.

The kid laughed at him.

Jesus.

Chris said, quietly, "I have to look at maps of Africa. And try to narrow down some drop locations. You…want to play with some pots or something?"

"…yes."

Good. The kid could talk. Good. Made life easier.

Chris set him up with pots and pans. The banging was…good. It was good. It was the first time in a long time Chris didn't feel alone in his house. He worked on locations. He flipped maps. He studied schematics and terrain information. He compared geographic and topical charts.

And Kit…started singing.

"I wuv Care…Care wuvvv Kit…Care…" It was…to the tune of some nursery rhyme. The kid couldn't just talk. It could make sentences.

HE…he could make sentences.

Chris said, "You know any AC/DC?"

And Kit answered, "No. Me stinky."

Me stinky.

Holy shit. The kid meant dirty. Like diaper dirty.

Chris leaned back in his chair. He tossed his glasses on the table. "You took a shit or something?"

Kit giggled. He smacked a pot with a loud clang. He giggled again. And he answered, "Me stinky."

"Awesome."

And so the Human Tank changed his first diaper. It wasn't all that hard. It was…interesting. Kit watched him with curiosity. There were wipes and Kit was smart enough to get his own diaper. There was powder and some kind of cream.

Chris mused, "I just squirt this on your butt or what?"

Kit grinned. "Yes. SPPPPLT. Butt stinky."

Oh, god.

The kid was a genius. Clearly.

Chris twitched his mouth. He shook his head. Feeling like a champion, he picked the kid up after changing his diaper. Kit grinned. The little t-shirt he wore was a Braves one.

Claire and her bad taste in baseball teams. Seriously.

Chris said, "The Braves suck. We'll get you some Cardinals shit."

"Yes. Shit."

And Kit toddled off to get his wooden spoon.

Chris blinked. So maybe it was time to tone it down on the language. A little.

He went back to working on maps. Kit kept banging pots. At one point, he looked down because the kid was standing there blinking at him.

Chris shifted his mouth around trying to read that little face. "What?"

Kit lifted his arms.

Oh.

Right.

Chris picked him up and settled him on his lap. Kit pulled one to him and eyed it with his tongue between his teeth. Chris worked over him, jotting notes.

The terrain suggested the shanty town of Kijuju was near the swamp and marshlands. The preliminary intel acquired from scouts suggested that Tricell had an oil field in the general vicinity. The local economy was kept abreast by the oil refinery, the quarry, and the trade business done between neighboring villages.

If Jill was there. Where was she?

The oil field was a li—

Kit touched his face.

Chris looked down at him.

And the kid touched his glasses. "Me? Pwease?"

Chris smiled a little. He shrugged. "You want some glasses?"

"Kit gasses on face. Mmhmm."

Smart.

He figured maybe that was normal at that age. Talking. But it sounded funny coming from a little tiny person. Chris set his glasses on Kit's nose. He went back to jotting down notes.

Kit copied his expression perfectly. He didn't see it of course because he was writing. But the little boy made the same intense face and furrowed his brow. He put his little hand out and pretended to write.

Chris finally glanced down at him. His mouth quirked up in a smile.

"You copying me?"

Kit grinned. "Yes. Kit copy you. Kit gasses."

"True story." Chris studied him. "They look good on you, kid."

"Yes. Good gasses. Care gasses."

"Nope. Not Claire's mine. I'm Chris. Not Claire."

It was an interesting moment. Because the little boy got owl eyed. He stared like Chris had farted on him. Chris widened his eyes in return. Comically big. "What? You gotta poop or something?"

Kit shook his head. He exclaimed, "Kiss! Kiss! Daddy!"

Oh god.

Claire had told the kid Chris was his Daddy. The horrible, awful, wonderful brat that she was.

He froze. He froze holding that tiny kid. It felt like someone had drop kicked him in the fucking heart. He couldn't breathe. It hurt. He hurt. It all hurt.

And he said, so softly, "Just Chris. Ok? Just Chris."

Kit put his head on his chest. He smiled. He sighed. Chris sat there like the kid had stabbed him in the heart.

He worked on the maps for a little while longer. He put Kit down to let Dog out to go to the bathroom. He cleaned up dinner.

He set up the little weird pack n' play Claire had left.

He flipped on the t.v. and watched Spongebob with the kid for a little while. Kit talked a lot. He said funny shit. He talked about "toots" and "bugs". He giggled about "Dog". He loved Dog. He played with Dog like they were both born for each other.

He took Dog's toys and ran away giggling when he was chased by him. Dog leaped on him and licked his face while he squealed.

He squealed.

It rang around that house like a shot.

Laughter.

It had been so long.

Chris picked him up to put him to bed. He settled him in. Kit watched him. He gave the boy his teddy bear.

Kit poked the bear with his finger as Chris turned away to go to his bedroom.

And died.

He died where he stood.

Because the bear spoke: "Is this thing on? Hello?" Laughter. "Ok Ok. I guess it's on. Right. So…HAPPY BIRTHDAY – You fat bastard! What? Oh. No. Fine. Barry says you're a turd. Anyway – Happy Birthday. You are officially old. Which is totally ok. Because – I kinda like an older guy. Have the best day ever, Red. You deserve it. P.S. I love you."

It was the first time he'd heard her voice in so long.

So long.

A lifetime.

He'd forgotten about the fucking bear. The bear. With Jill's voice. But Claire hadn't. She'd given Jill's voice…to his kid.

Chris put his hands flat on the wall in front of him. He bowed his head. The pain spilled like poison. It took his breath away.

Kit poked the bear again.

P.S. I love you.

And he cried.

He cried for the second time in a day.

It was a record even for him.

Chris Redfield, the Human Tank, stood in the hallway and cried because a fucking bear had Jill's voice. It was retarded. It was insane. It was so stupid. There were no words.

Kit poked it again.

And Chris put his face in his hands.

He must have made some sound. Something. Because the kid said, "Daddy?"

And his heart…

His heart…

The kid said, "Daddy? Sad?" And he lifted his arms.

Chris turned back. He moved. He picked up the kid and the bear.

Kit kissed his mouth. Just like that. Smooch. And said, "Daddy…booboo? Kiss."

Cheese and rice.

He took them both to bed with him. Kit snuggled right up against him and sighed.

And in the dark of the room, he poked the bear again.

Chris laid on his back, watching the shadows on the ceiling. Jill's voice filled the quiet around them.

You are officially old. Which is totally ok. Because – I kinda like an older guy. Have the best day ever, Red. You deserve it.

Kit giggled a little. He said, "Night night….Daddy."

Jesus Christ.

Chris shifted. He put his cheek on that soft dark hair.

And he closed his eyes.

Jill's voice slid around them. She slid her hand over his chest. She curled up against his other side. She put her ear over his heart.

He pressed the bear again.

And Jill leaned up on her arm. She pressed her mouth to his. He could feel her. He could smell her. He could see her. He lifted his hand, he cupped her face, and kissed her back.

And Kit said, "Kit wuv Daddy."

And Jill? She was so happy. She was so happy there with them. Right there. Curled up beside him. With her arm on him…and over his son.

The night spilled long around them. The bear stopped talking.

And Chris whispered, into the dark, "P.S….I still love you."

…..

He spent two days with the kid. The kid was gold. The was awesome.

The kid…was his.

On the third night they were curled up in bed, reading a book. Chris was making funny voices and doing impressions. Kit was laughing and playing his fingers.

Occasionally, Chris poked the bear with his finger to hear her.

It was close to midnight and Kit was starting to nod off. So, Chris adjusted him and slid out from his snoring face. He dropped a kiss on his dark head and went into the kitchen to get some water.

And his doorknob jiggled.

It just jiggled.

Claire wouldn't jiggle the door knob. The last person to jiggle his doorknob had been Jill.

This wasn't Jill.

He opened his kitchen drawer and pulled his piece out. Moving slow and soundless, he shifted and wedged the kitchen chair up against the doorknob. And he stopped being the guy trying to love Jill Valentine.

He stopped being the guy trying to find his way in a broken world.

And he became Chris Redfield.

He listened. And heard them crossing his porch. His ears told him at least four.

They were shifting in the dark. They were moving quietly. He shifted back toward the bedroom to check on Kit. Dog was there in bed with him.

And someone was trying to come in through the window.

The world shifted again. It spilled red at the edges.

Chris didn't wait. He shot the first shadow outside the window. It screamed and went backward.

The gunshot woke Kit up. He came awake crying. Chris picked him up on his hip. The little boy snugged against him, crying a little.

"Shhh. Shhh."

There was running now. Someone was shouting. They knew that he was aware of them. Dog growled quietly.

Chris said, "Kit – listen to me."

The boy perked up, thumb in mouth.

"I need to get you out of here. I need to get you somewhere safe. But I need to put you down to do that. I need to put you down. And I need you to go under my bed and stay there. Can you do that?"

The kid watched him. There was more running outside.

And he said, "Hide."

"Yeah. HIDE."

He put him down. Kit crawled under the bed.

Chris eased out into the hallway, clearing as he moved. He tracked the next shadow on the window by the kitchen.

And put two into the person there.

The glass shattered with a tinkle. Someone shouted.

He heard, "He's not ALONE! There must be multiples!"

Nope. Just him.

Just Chris Redfield.

They weren't a very effective team. Whoever they were? They were slow and sloppy. The B-Team. Whoever was trying to kill him had sent the B-Team. Which meant they either didn't know who the fuck he was. Or they thought he was that far down the rabbit hole.

He could spend a thousand years lost in the dark, he'd still be the best in the business. Despite Leon Kennedy, the sister fucker, thinking it was him. It wasn't. Not even a little.

Arrogant floppy haired girl.

Chris listened. He waited.

And someone tossed a grenade through his dining room window.

He threw the couch up and ducked behind it.

The flashbang went off. The world went white and bright.

And Chris listened, eyes closed. Like fucking Luke Skywalker and the Force. His eyes were useless here. The first crunch of glass and he raised up and fired into the smoke. There was more shouting.

He heard sounds back toward the bedroom and shifted down the hallway silently. One tried again to come through the only other window. He shot them three times.

He was six into a seventeen shot magazine. He needed to get them out of his house and away from his son. That was the first priority.

He made a lot of noise now as he vaulted out the broken window into the dark.

He heard them scrambling.

One came around the side of the house and he shot them in the face. Blood sprayed wet and fast. The next one tossed a grenade around the wall at him. He kicked it back toward them and rolled.

It went off, throwing fire and gunpowder as it erupted. It blew a crater into the ground and took the guy there with it.

Someone was firing on him now.

He crouched and moved, easing around the other side of the house. He lured them out toward the trees and away from the house. He made noise. He made sure of that.

One of them actually shouted, "FREEZE!"

Were they kidding?

They fired on him. He hit the line of trees and threw himself behind one. The bullets thunked around him, breaking branches and kicking up snow. His breath steamed out, a white, white cloud.

A twig broke to his right. At his 5 o'clock. He rolled around the tree and shot the person creeping there. They went to their back in the snow.

He was pretty sure there were at least six more.

The night breathed.

And he heard Kit crying.

"YOU BETTER COME OUT! WE GOT THE KID!"

Jesus Christ.

"THROW YOUR FUCKING GUN AND COME OUT NOW!"

He threw the gun. Just like that.

He stepped around the tree.

They were all holding guns on him. And the leader in the respirator was holding his kid. He had the gun on him and Kit pushed into the ground on his face. The world went red at more than the edges.

It rolled in his chest. It kick started his dead heart like an AED.

He moved toward them, no fear. "Let him go. Now."

"No way! You're both coming with us. That was the plan. You started this battle, old man. We just came here to take you in."

"Take me in where?"

"Shit, old timer, you don't really think I'm gonna tell you that, do you?"

Another one of them said, "He's huge man. They said muscular. He's fucking massive."

Chris answered, "You must have been the brightest kid in your class. Bet you're as big of a pussy as you are dumb. How about you drop that gun and we find out?"

"You kidding!? I wouldn't fight you for a million dollars."

The leader said, "Jones – just grab him."

"You kidding!? He's HUGE. Did you hear the huge part?"

The leader heaved out a breath, "Listen! You come quietly or I'll shoot your kid in the back of the head."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Chris was even with the first of them. He spun left and elbowed him the face. He put his shoulder up under the aimed arms and grabbed the wrist. And he broke the arm, took the gun, and shot the leader in the face in a single move.

The others turned on him, shouting.

He shot two more while they panicked.

The one screaming with the broken arm made a nice human shield. He rolled him around, and the body took three bullets while he screamed. Chris shoved the screaming man at another of them and shot the first one that turned the gun on his kid.

Just him and the one on the ground now.

Chris kicked the gun away from him as he reached for it. He was trying to shove the dead body off him. "We ain't done man! There's more of us! We ai-"

Chris shot him in the face.

It was echoed, simultaneously, by another round.

It got him in the back. It threw him to his face on the ground.

It all went to hell.

Three of them came out of the trees. Kit came running at him. The world slipped sideways. Chris rolled to his bleeding back and grabbed him. He rolled again and the ground tossed mud and grass where the bullet hit.

They'd tried to shoot his kid.

They were dead where they stood.

Chris tucked him under his body. He grabbed the gun from the ground.

They raced at him and he shot the first one from the prone position on the ground. He kept Kit beneath him. Somebody shot him again.

It hit, throwing blood. Kit screamed.

It was ok. It hurt like shit but he'd survived worse. Way worse. And he could take a few fucking bullets.

They didn't know who's party they'd just taken a shit in, clearly.

He rolled and the ground thunked with bullets. He moved in a crouch with Kit stuck to his front like glue. A bullet winged the tree beside his face, kicking up bark. He rolled behind it and set Kit against it. He put a finger over his mouth.

Kit was shaking so badly. So badly.

But he stayed quiet.

Chris threw himself to his side on the ground and aimed down his arm. He shot the first one to come out of the shadows. The bullet missed, cock blocked by trees.

The person shouted and ducked behind a tree.

A twig broke to his free. Chris rolled and didn't get a chance to fire.

They kicked him in the face.

Kit screamed. Chris rolled. And they jerked him to his knees with a hand gripped in his hair.

And Kit?

He ran at them and started swinging.

Chris shouted, "NO! NO! RUN!"

But the little boy wouldn't run. The man back handed him for it. And he went down in the soggy snow covered leaves.

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Chris rolled up. The man brought the gun down and hit him in the face with it. It glanced off his temple so it didn't knock him cold but it threw him to the ground with the force of it.

And the man turned the gun on his kid.

Chris shouted.

The man pulled the trigger.

And Dog leaped on him.

He took them to the ground in a snarling battle of the ages. The gun went off again. Chris clamored to his feet, grabbing for his son. And the man behind him said, "DON'T FUCKING MOVE!"

Two them, approaching in the trees.

The gun went off a third time and Dog yelped.

And then?

Silence.

Chris felt the rage he'd been trying to purge roar into his body. It spilled into his blood. It made him insane. Or stupid. Or both.

The second man said, "What do we do? Irving said to bring him in alive."

Irving. Ricardo Irving.

What was Tricell's rat doing sending men to kill him?

The man struggling with Dog came limping back. "Fucking mutt."

"You kill it?"

"Hell yeah. Ugly fucking thing."

The third one said, "Let's just kill the kid and take the guy in."

The first one intoned, "Yeah. Good idea. Less paperwork that way."

The one that had struggled with Dog lifted his gun on Kit pressed against Chris. Chris said, so, so quietly, "You pull that trigger, I'm going shove that gun up your ass and fuck you to death with it."

The guy laughed. "You and what army, you old fuck?"

And a voice said, "No army. Just me."

The man turned. And the first one of the other two's head erupted in a spray of blood and bone.

Leon Kennedy stepped into the moonlight.

He ducked the wild fist of the other one and threw an elbow into the man. It drove him back a step. He went to raise that gun and Leon laughed. He just laughed.

The one with his gun on Chris started to swing it to the other battle.

Dumbass.

Chris kicked him in the fucking knee for it.

He tumbled left and Chris let go of Kit and rose up. He jerked the gun from him and pistol whipped him across the face.

The man spun twice and went to his back in the dying leaves.

Chris dropped the gun. He let the guy try to run. Why not? He crouched and fell and scrambled in the leaves. Chris kicked in the ass and sent him onto his face. He grabbed him by the hair and raised him to his knees.

The guy shouted, "Wait wait! WAIT! I'll tell you what I know! I'll tell you all of it."

Leon was there now. He had Kit tucked against his chest.

Chris said, "Start talking. Now."

"I don't know what they want with you. Swear to god. They said to stop you from coming. That's all I know. They said to keep you out of Kijuju. They said to bring you in. That's it."

"Who is Irving?"

"He's—he's the guy in charge yeah? I think. I think he's the guy in charge. He said he tried to get you killed at the Spencer Estate but that went bad. So – maybe we should just HOLD you. Hold you until it was all done. And then kill you."

Irving was dead where he stood.

It was that simple.

Leon said, "You wanna bring him in for interrogation?"

Chris felt the moonlight shift over him. He said, softly, "You tried to kill my son."

And he took his jaw, heard the man shout in protest, and snapped his neck.

It was wet and loud and awful.

Claire came from the trees. Chris turned back through them. He was already running.

He heard the whining. He slid to his knees in the wet snow. His hands slid down over the bloody side of the heaving Dog. Dog whined softly.

Chris knelt in the bloody snow, pressing down on him. "It's alright, pal. It's ok now."

The mutt shifted and licked his hand.

Chris felt the pain spear into the rage. It met and blended. He rubbed his shaggy head. And whispered, "You're a good boy. You hero. You shaggy hero. It's ok now."

Leon knelt beside him. He put pressure on the second bullet wound.

The blood spilled over their knees in the soggy snow.

Dog was heaving now. Chris laid his face against his neck. Dog licked his nose and woofed.

Chris whispered, "…P.S. I love you."

And Dog stopped breathing.

Claire made a small sound of grief.

Chris kept lying there in the bloody snow with his ear on that shaggy mutt. He put his face in the fur of him and breathed. He stood and picked Dog up in his arms.

Leon said, quietly, "Let me take him, Chris."

But Chris shook his head. He moved through the trees now. His face was dry. His chest hurt. He laid Dog on the porch and said, "Claire – take Kit inside. It's cold. Take him inside and call for back up."

She watched his face…and went inside.

Leon said, "What do you need?"

"I need to bury my fucking dog."

He put two shovels in the bed of his pickup. He put Dog in the back seat of his truck. Leon got in beside him.

And he drove in the cold night.

He drove and parked.

Leon said nothing. He said nothing.

In the freezing cold, in the dead of the night, they dug through the frozen ground. And Chris placed Dog inside the grave. He kissed his shaggy head and rose. And they buried him.

As they stood in the moonlight, Chris looked at the headstone. The blood was dried and blood on it. And the grave?

It was no longer empty.

He buried Dog in Jill's empty grave.

Leon lifted a hand and set it on his shoulder.

Chris stood in the freezing cold.

And the chill of it was matched by the determination that began to grow inside his soul.

He said, into the cold air, "I need you to stay here and protect them. Protect my sister...and my son."

Leon kept on holding on to his shoulder. And his voice was soft on the breeze, "You don't need to ask me that ever. I want to ask Claire to marry me. I want to ask you to let me."

Chris looked at the blood on Jill's headstone. And the fresh turned earth that held the body of the best dog on Earth. He was missing them both now. His two best friends.

He was alone.

He wanted Claire to NEVER be alone. He said, "You have my blessing. Love her. You stupid bastard. Don't fuck it up."

"I won't. I swear to god. I will die to protect her. And your son."

They stood in the cold air. They stood there together.

Chris said, quietly, "I will avenge you, pal. I will avenge you...and P.S.? I love you."

Jesus Christ, Leon thought, how was it possible to love a fucking dog so much? It actually HURT him to listen to Chris say goodbye. Admittedly? All heart. This guy? All heart.

So Leon kept on holding on, while Chris Redfield mourned the second best friend he'd ever known. And prepared to find the one that was waiting for him.

Somewhere out there in the dark.

Excella Gionne exploded into the Monarch Room.

Jill and Wesker were in their battlesuits. They were facing off. It was going surprisingly well. She wasn't as fast, clearly, but she was so good now that she gave the "god" a run for his money.

"Albert!"

Wesker looked up from the battle. He halted Jill with a lifted palm.

Excella shouted, "Someone leaked Irving's attack plan. It didn't work. It didn't work at all. He is a fucking stupid little man. I told him to send Jill!"

Jill glanced at her angry face. "I won't work for you, Excella. EVER. I told you that."

Excella sneered at her. "You will do what you are TOLD! I've had enough of you, stupid girl! Why is she still here?! USE THE DRUG ON HER ALBERT. She is leaking intel. SOMEHOW – she is getting messages to them."

Jill laughed mirthlessly. "To whom?"

And Excella shouted, "Redfield! I tried to have him take into custody. I tried to stop him. He knows about Kijuju. He knows about what is happening here. It is only a matter of time before the BSAA comes calling. Irving sent a team."

Jill's heart was slamming. She held Excella's angry glare. "…they failed."

She breathed it.

Excella screamed at her now, "YES THEY FAILED! FIFTEEN MEN! FIFTEEN! HE IS ONLY ONE MAN!"

Jill felt her heart swell. Her head swam. She laughed. She actually laughed. "You stupid CUNT! He's CHRIS REDFIELD! SEND A HUNDRED OF THEM! THEY WILL ALL FAIL!"

Excella moved to slap her. Jill grabbed her wrist and slung her away.

Wesker stepped between them when Excella came in for another round.

Jill said, "I will put you on your ass, Excella. Don't even fucking try it."

Excella screamed with rage. "These fucking Raccoon City survivors. Why is she here Albert?! USE THE P30! Send her after Redfield. Stop this before he shows up here to stop your plan. DO IT!"

Jill turned her back the catty bitch. She moved away, laughing.

Excella shouted, "FIFTEEN FUCKING MEN! And the only casualty for them was a fucking dog."

Jill froze.

She froze where she stood.

Excella kept on going. "Instead of killing Redfield. Instead of taking him in…they killed his fucking dog. This is what inferior turds work for Irving. That idiot. That fool. Stop this stupidity, please, Albert. Please. Our new world…it's being threatened."

Jill was frozen.

Excella was fuming and shouting. Pacing and tossing her hair.

Jill caught sight of herself in the mirror. It reflected back her wide eyes. Her blue eyes. Her pale skin. That blonde hair. Not her. Not anymore.

But it was.

She was still Jill Valentine.

And Chris had buried her dog. Their dog. Dog. The three amigos.

And somewhere? He was standing alone...as the last one. She put a hand to her mouth. She shook her head. She tried, so hard, to send herself to him. The grief of it tried to kill her where she stood.

She could FEEL Wesker watching her.

She turned her head. They locked eyes. Well, eyes...and sunglasses.

She said, "You're done. You're new world? It's done."

Excella scoffed. "See!? She is a traitorous bitch! She doesn't believe! She never has! LIAR! FAKE!"

Jill held those sunglasses and said, "Where is Irving?"

Wesker said, quietly, "Do not be stupid, Jill. Or rash."

"Where…is…Irving?"

Excella said, "What? You seek revenge for a dog? Are you serious?"

Excella laughed. She scoffed. "A mutt. Disgusting. Fleas and fur. Hideous. Dogs...why? Cats are the Queens animal. Dogs...for heathens like Chris Redfield."

Jill turned on her. She took two steps – and punched her in the face. It rang up her arm. It vibrated. It made her arm go numb from fingers to elbow. Excella went straight down on her ass and slid across the floor.

She cradled her nose, screeching.

Jill said, quietly, "That was MY fucking dog, you bitch. MY DOG. I'm going to rip Irving's dick off and feed it to him. And when I'm done? I'm coming back here to do the same to you."

She turned toward the exit. Wesker grabbed her arm. She paused, watching him.

He said again, so quietly, "Think carefully, Jill. Carefully. Redfield is alive. He is safe. You are risking his life for a hound."

And he didn't get it. He would never get it. He would never understand.

Ever.

Jill said, softly, "No. It's too late for that. Don't you understand? Don't you see? He wasn't just a dog. He wasn't. Ever. Chris is coming. You can't stop him now. I've been here with you, playing house, playing your…wife. Your Queen. And Chris? He was out there burying my dog."

Her voice broke. It lit her eyes with tears.

"He wasn't just a dog. He was our dog. Our friend. Ours. Mine. And Chris'...like I am. I'M his. And he's mine."

Jill shook his hand off her arm.

"I can't protect him anymore. Because he never needed me to. Ever. I'm going to go kill Ricardo Irving. After that? I'm coming back here to finish that bitch. You should run. You should. Because you're done here. Your new world? It's done. Chris will bring the BSAA down on this place like the wrath of god."

Excella screeched, "For a fucking dog!?"

Jill answered, quietly, "For my fucking dog. And for me. Shut down your project. Shut it down. Or he'll destroy you."

Wesker grabbed her arm and scared her. He jerked her into him. He lifted her off her toes.

"You threaten me with him? Have you learned nothing? He is nothing. He is human. Stupid. He will show up for emotion and die for it. Do not choose him, Jill. I offer you this last chance to stand beside me."

Jill was shaking. She was shaking.

Her dog.

Her guy.

This man would see them both in the cold ground.

If she kept standing there beside him, there would be nothing left for her to protect. And she would no longer be Jill Valentine.

She'd forgotten. She'd forgotten the most important thing.

The only thing that mattered.

There was no Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield…and Dog.

Jill answered, low and with feeling, "I will never stand beside you. Never. When he's out there. When he's waiting for me. I will never stand beside you. Your new world? It's not a place I want to live in. It's awful. It's sad. And it's pathetic. I'd rather have two minutes in this world with him…then an eternity with you in yours. There is no Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield. And you can thank yourself for that. You put him next to me that day, and offered him my soul."

Wesker said, quietly, "You are mine."

And Jill intoned, low and hard, "I will NEVER be yours. He is mine. And I'm his. And you? You're nothing. You're finished. And I'm going to laugh while your new world goes up in flames."

He held her, her feet dangled, and then he threw her.

He threw her away like she was nothing.

She flew. She hit the door there and went through it. She slid over the ground and smashed into the wall. She struggled to get up and he lifted her again.

Her head swam. The world spun.

And he said, "I offered you a place beside me, Jill. But you aren't worthy. You are a fool. Too human to sit beside a god in the new world. I will enjoy watching you kill him. I will enjoy knowing you suffer while he dies…by your own hand. Two minutes in this world with him…is all you'll have left. Before you rip out his heart and watch him die."

She gasped, desperately, "I'd rather die beside him...then live forever beside you."

And he squeezed.

He squeezed her throat.

He squeezed it and choked off her air.

The dark rolled around her. She slumped in his arms.

Wesker let up before he killed her. But part of him wanted to kill her. To kill her for her foolish human heart. Her heart. It was the bane of all mankind.

He felt his in his chest, hammering.

And circled in something he hadn't felt in so long: A fine trembling rage. A hatred that burned and bled and anointed him in the power he'd forgotten while he'd pantomimed at life with Jill Valentine.

A power that would change the world.

He took her to the lab. He threw her on the table.

Fergusson squeaked and jumped.

And Wesker said, "Fit her with the device. Start the injections. She is no longer given free will. When she arises, send her to guard Irving."

Fergusson nodded, rapidly, desperately.

And Wesker turned back. He left the lab. He picked Excella up off the floor. She eyed him, so, so quietly.

And she fell into step beside him as he moved to leave the Monarch Room. He said, "Ready the village. Release the plagas."

Excella nodded..and tucked her hand around his arm. It was good, she thought wildly, to be back at his side where she belonged.

Meanwhile in the lab, Fergusson apologized profusely. Desperately…as he put the scarab on the chest of Jill Valentine…and took away her soul.  
......

Post Note: I could drag out Jill's captivity to Wesker for chapters and chapters. I had plans to play more in it. But the story feels right here. It feels like this would be what pushed her to stop playing around. Maybe I'm wrong. But her guy. Her Dog. It's her world. And that's all crashing around her now. All she's trying to protect is falling apart.

So maybe she's done playing games. And she's ready to start kicking asses.

Moving into 5 in the next chapters. We'll see how I play around it. I won't be doing the whole game, like the mansion before it. If I did that, we'd lose Jill for most of the story and it would just be Chris fighting Majini...and boulders. Haha.


	30. Chapter 30

A/N: A little closer to Kijuju here. We see the possibility of life in more ways than one. Jill - who'd considered for a moment a life with the Devil. And Chris - who starts to consider a life without Jill.

As we know - sometimes things just end. Sometimes there's no happily ever after. Sometimes? There's just moving on...and saying goodbye.

Also - it's got to get dark before the dawn right?

So some angsty sad smutty stuff here. Tis the nature of things after all right?

I think the next chapters are going to pull us to the push toward the heart of 5. I honestly don't know how this ends.

Happy?

I don't know. It just comes to me as I go sometimes.

XXX: Forgiveness

:::::::::::::Thirty::::::::::

An explosion in an oil field wasn't always such a big deal. It happened all the time. This one was no different. It killed eleven workers when the tank blew.

It was bad timing and bad luck and shitty.

Irritated by it, Ricardo Irving was shouting at the top of his squirrely lungs. "Yous STUPID FOOLS! YOU MORONS! WHY AM I PAYING YOU!? YOUS ARE ALL USELESS!"

The explosion wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Neither was Irving shouting.

But this time one of the bodies in the fire was about to be used in a nefarious game. It was Excella Gionne playing to the world to get rid of Jill Valentine.

For good. One way or another.

The call came while he slept. He rolled.

He answered it, squinting into the shadows. "Yeah?"

It was Barry.

"They found a body."

Chris blinked, "What?"

"The oil field run by Tricell? There was an explosion. There were casualties. The autopsies were released and Cindy Lennox got her hands on the results. It would have gone unnoticed Chris but the DNA popped a match on one of the burned victims."

Chris' phone beeped. He shifted, pulling his palm device up to scan it.

7 males and 3 females. Dental records taken by Tricell doctors confirmed the corpses.

"Chris – they're saying one of the bodies…was Jill."

He blinked at the information on his phone.

"No."

Barry said, "Chris…"

"No. It's lies. Someone is lying. Get me a drop in there. Get Fisher to find me a contact and an escort. I'm going in. She's not dead."

"Chris…what will it take?"

"Her body. I need to see it. I need to feel it. It need to bury her. I can't let her go otherwise. She's not gone. She's still here."

He hung up the phone.

And stared at the burnt corpse on his screen.

It wasn't her.

But his soul trembled.

And he needed answers. He needed something. He was drowning…and he needed hope.

But there was nothing but silence.

And dental records with HER NAME.

The night was thick and dark.

It spilled cool and deep in the trees, in the cold. The fire lit the world in red and rolling tongues of orange and yellow. It spiraled smoke in curling tongues up into the waiting sky.

The man who knelt there, did so shirtless, exposed, naked to the waist in the freezing air surrounding him. Each symbols of battle, each suggestion of devotion – each was worn and shown to the flickering firelight, to the down cast silver gaze of the moon that peeked perfect and pale behind her playful roll of clouds.

From behind the window, they watched: two pairs of blue eyes. One in a face crafted by the hands of angels. A beautiful face. A face of an avenging warrior with a sword of justice. The other with eyes that matched perfectly the pair that held the roaring flame in the clearing.

Leon spoke from beside Claire, so softly, "What does it mean?"

She lifted her hand and spilled it against the cold glass, offering her solace to the man that knelt in the wavering smoke and communed.

"It means he misses my father. It means he's trying to find guidance. He's communing. I haven't seen him do it since they died."

Her voice broke a little. Leon glanced down at her face in the small light from the kitchen behind them. She was absorbed in her brother, enraptured. She added, "It means he's trying to heal. And be my brother again."

Leon caught her chin and turned it up to him. She held his eyes in the dim moonlight. And then she stepped into the circle of his arms. He held her while she looked out the window. He stood behind her – her avenging angel. Her warrior.

And she spoke so softly, "A long time ago, the Sacred White Buffalo Calf Woman came to Earth and gave the Lakota people a Sacred Pipe and a small round stone. These gifts were to be used in the first rite, Keeping of the Soul, which she taught them. She also said six other rituals would be revealed to them.

Then, she left the people saying,"There will be four ages, and I will look in on you once each age. At the end of the four ages, I will return." As she left, she changed from a beautiful maiden into a black buffalo … then a red-brown buffalo … then a yellow buffalo … and finally into a white buffalo. And then, she disappeared into the clouds."

Leon watched Chris as she spoke. She had the penchant for story telling that came from ties as old and as long as the earth around her. As the people she came from. And the ones still in her blood.

Chris puffed on the pipe in his hands, sending curls of smoke into the inky dark.

And Claire continued, "The bowl of the pipe she gave the Lakota was made of red stone, representing the Earth. A buffalo head was carved on the bowl, symbolizing all of the four-legged animals of the Earth. The stem was wood and represented all that grows on the Earth.

Twelve eagle feathers hung from the place where the bowl joined the stem; this symbolized all the birds. The round stone was made out of the same red earth as the pipe and had seven circles on it representing the seven rites.

When a Lakota smokes a sacred pipe, his or her voice is sent to Wakan Tanka - the Great Spirit. A central part of each sacred rite is smoking the sacred pipe."

Chris was speaking in the clearing. The mystery of what he said carried around them.

Claire said, "A song first sung by the White Buffalo Calf Woman - and still sung today - begins: With visible breath I am walking ...The smoke from the pipe is the visible breath. He's seeking the Great Spirit. He's seeking guidance and healing from the The Great Mystery."

Leon rubbed her arms, saying nothing.

He just let her talk.

It was what she needed.

And Claire said, "My father did it when we were young. When my Grandad passed. When he and my mother fought once and separated for a few months. It was his way of reconnecting to his people, to his path…to his soul. Many tribes believed in two souls: one that died when the body died and one that might wander on and eventually die."

Leon finally asked, quietly, "Does Chris believe he has two souls?"

"Yes." Claire kept on staring at her brother in the darkness now, "His…and Jill's. Twin souls. My Dad was always talking about it. The fate. The winds. The mirror of our souls. Chris…he'd laugh. He'd shrug. But he believed. I think we both did. My Dad…he had this way of always being right. He KNEW things. You know? Like when it would rain. Or when something bad was going to happen. The day…"

She trailed off and Leon turned her to him. She lifted her hand to his face now, watching him. "The day he died. They died together…he said…something was coming. Something was coming with the wind. The wind brought the storm and killed them. I couldn't get out of bed. I couldn't eat. I couldn't move. But Chris? He did. He did everything. He did it all…alone."

She stood now, looking up at the man holding her arms. She said, "In Raccoon City – the wind blew him into the RPD…and there was Jill. Twin souls."

Leon skimmed a thumb over her cheek, so quiet. Watching her face. She said, "In Raccoon City – the wind blew the door open out of my hands when I left that diner…and I bumped into you. You looked at me. You held my eyes for just that split second…and I knew. I knew. I just had to wait for you to figure it out."

Her heart. It was hammering. But she forged on, "I can't go another day without you, Leon Kennedy. You're mine. You're my twin soul. My other piece. I can't get Jill back for my brother. I'd sell pieces of myself to do it if I could. But I can do this. I can love you. I can keep you. If you'll let me…be my other piece, Leon. And marry me."

He held her eyes for a long, long moment in the swirling moonlight. In the flicker of orange from the fire where Chris Redfield tried to find his way back to himself. And he said, "Claire…you had me then. Right then. Always. I just didn't know how to show you. Me? The son of a drug dealing pimp cop. You kidding? You deserve better. You always have."

Claire was shaking her head. She took his face, holding it. "Better…there is no one better then you. No one. You've never, ever, ever let me down. Ever. Leon…say yes. And let me love you."

Leon dropped his forehead to hers. They held in the quivering moonlight. "Claire….yes."

And he kissed her while the Great Spirit swirled around her, healing as it blessed.

In the clearing, the man in question knelt amongst the smoke the flame. The paint made from minerals, from clay, from rich earth and stones – it spilled on his muscled flesh to promote healing of both the body and soul. In the swirling firelight, Chris Redfield asked for guidance, and strength, and peace. He asked for the power to face his enemies, to strike back the dark, and to find the missing piece of him.

He asked for the strength to avenge her…and finally let her go.

Maybe he would finally be ready to let her go.

The breeze blew in from the West, cool and comforting, and brought the promise of fate in its brittle kiss.

He put his son down for a nap. He moved through his house.

He kept waiting for the phone to ring with answers.

Are you still there Jill? Are you still here?

I need a sign. I need to feel you.

I need you to tell me what to do here.

P.S. I still love you.

Sometimes fate is a funny little temptress. The tumultuous duality of her nature guides us even as it offers us the ability to construct our own path. He'd asked the Great Spirit to guide him. He'd asked for a sign.

He was about to be offered both a new path…and a sign to bring him full circle on the one he had spent so long trodding.

As Jill Valentine served inside a shell, a broken doll, to a master that had once offered her a place beside him in a new world, so did fate blow in from the West…and show Chris Redfield that sometimes life goes on, while we're waiting to find ourselves again.

The small car slid up his driveway. It swirled to a stop. It was red and tiny. It was one of those half electric deals that was good for the environment.

Rebecca stepped out, wearing a tiny pink parka. A sock hat in striped pink and blue covered her cap of pixie short dark hair. As far as he knew, she never bothered to change hairstyles. She didn't need the hair. Her face was flawless. She could have been thirteen or thirty or three hundred. Her beauty was timeless and simple.

When you saw her, you thought of words like: delicate and fragile and childlike. But she was strong and had always been one of his closest friends.

She eased onto the porch in the snow, watching his face.

And she didn't pull any punches. "You executed Jessica Sherawat."

He held her look. The breeze whistled sharp and cold from the mountains.

She said, "I saw the body. I did the math. No wounds on you. Either she didn't fight back really or she didn't get the chance too. Did you execute her? In cold blood?"

"Yes."

She flinched.

She hadn't expected him to answer. It surprised her in the cold morning air. She finally held his calm eyes. And she nodded.

"I gave you the drugs. I did that. It's on me. I did that." She shifted to look out over the porch beside him now. He leaned there in a soft blue sweater of good Irish wool. Waffle weave and thick, she could see it fraying in places. Her hand laid gently on his forearm…and found it soft.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have given you the drugs. It was stupid. It was so stupid. I knew you were hurting. I knew you were lost. I knew you needed a friend. Instead? I let you bury your head in your ass and become a fucking addict."

He winced. Because every time she said fuck it sounded so cute. Her little voice. Her dirty mouth. Part of her charm.

Chris answered, "Not your fault. Ever. I'm a grown man, Rebecca. I can make my own stupid decisions. I didn't give you much choice. And I took advantage of you. I'm sorry as hell for it. Infinitely."

Rebecca sighed. She slid her hand down his forearm…and blended their fingers. And she turned him toward her now. "What's worse? I don't even care. I don't care that you killed that bitch. She betrayed everything we stand for. Everything. I hate myself for not caring. But I don't."

"That makes two of us."

Rebecca said, "I need to tell you something. And the timing is wrong. It's all kinds of wrong. I'm sorry for that. But I think, you're sober now, and maybe you're ready."

She watched his face. His face. She'd loved it for so long. How did she say this without scaring him away? She'd kept her silence for Jill. She'd kept her peace for his grieving. When was it ok to push?

She spoke…and she didn't pull any punches. "If you go to Africa…and you don't find her there. Will you stop? Will you finally stop? Will you finally just let yourself heal? And let her go?"

He started to pull away and she looped her other hand into the front of his sweater. She dragged him to her. And he felt the panic of something in his chest.

She said, quietly, "Jill was my friend. Maybe one of my best friends. Maybe yours too. And maybe she was your soul mate and your ONE. And maybe she's there. Maybe she's waiting. And maybe? She's already gone."

The cold breeze rustled her little bangs that poked out the bottom of that hat she wore.

She intoned, "I've loved you…probably as long as I can remember. Maybe it was that day you kissed me. Maybe it was before that. I don't know. And you were always looking at Jill. And then? Jill died. She died…or was taken…or was just gone…and I thought…this is what guilt is. It's knowing that I sat around loving you behind her back all these years. Pantomiming this friendship with you that was all predicated on waiting for her to fail to you…so maybe you'd turn to me and finally figure it out."

Holy shit.

He felt like someone had hit him upside the head with that dumb stick again. What was it with him? Blinder than a bat, clearly, about his life lately. Claire and Kennedy running off to elope. Rebecca Chambers confessing her undying love.

What kind of shit was this?

Chris said, softly now, "Rebecca…I don't know that it's that simple."

She nodded a little, surprising him. "It is. It is that simple. Jill is not the only woman in the world. She is not the only woman you will ever love. And if she's gone? If that's true, I'm not fading into the background again while you find someone else. No. It's me. I'm here. I love you. Always have. And I want to have your babies and raise your kid in there and marry you and live here in this weird cabin you love so much in the middle of nowhere and…"

He felt like someone was poking him in the brain with a WHAT THE FUCK injection. His life…what the hell had happened? He'd been dead in his soul for two and half years. Is this what happened when you stopped paying attention to your life?

Rebecca dragged him down to her. The sweet little eager pixie with her gasping and thin thighs that he'd touched and used after the Arklay Mansion all those years ago. She'd been so innocent. So young. Starry eyed and needy.

She was still sweet. Still eager. And she wasn't innocent anymore.

She put her hands under his sweater, she put them all over him, and put her tongue in his mouth. He wasn't entirely sure she didn't try to steamroll all ninety pounds of her over him and kill him. And whatever else was true? He was still a man. So his body was like: WOOHOO!

She pushed right into his personal space. She, literally, slid her hands into the back of his jeans and cupped his ass and kept right on going. He made some sound and opened his mouth. His hands came up to cup her face.

Rebecca popped their mouths apart wetly.

He felt like she might have smashed him between the eyes with a hammer made out of confused want.

She laughed a little, breathless. "I wanted to say that. I just wanted you to know THAT before you went off chasing ghosts in Africa. That. Maybe I'm not Jill. But I love you. And I'd be good to you. Good for you. Like you were to me that day. Gentle and kind."

She slid her hands under his sweater and painted his chest with those little fingers and palms. She curled against him like a horny little cat, snuggling. He was fairly sure his brain went –plop- and fell out his ass. She breathed against his mouth, "You said to find someone who makes my skin throb. I did. Let me make your skin throb, Chris. I'll be patient…and gentle…"

She punctuated each low word with a smooth, wet, tonguing kiss. Jesus Christ. He wasn't even sure what the hell was happening here. But his body said: BOING.

"And I'll be good to you. I wanted you to know that. Before you went away again. I was stupid back then. I probably could have pushed. I could have had you. I just…wasn't ready. I'm ready now. You don't have to love me at first. I'll wait…but I'll be good to you. Faithful….eager…wet…" She slid her hand into his pants and played all over his dick with one of those little lab geek hands of hers. POP. There went his common sense. It said: Get some ass before you go race off to Africa. Get some ass.

And he was the guy getting groped in the cold by Rebecca Chambers. And it was the first time in days he hadn't thought of Jill, and Dog, and grief. It was the first time he'd felt like a man again. With blood in his dick and his veins instead of revenge.

It kinda made him love her.

Even as it was utterly and completely insane.

He'd thrown down on Mira that one time. Once. He'd had sex ONCE in two and a half years. He was straight up, hard up and dying here. The grief had robbed his brain out of his ass and left him empty. The pain, the fight, the betrayal and the justice of picking up the sword – it came with a price. He had the kid inside sleeping in his crib…and an empty bed. An aching heart…and a lonely dick. No lie there.

He was hard up.

Her amorous little hands worked him. She pulled and tugged, she slid fingers and cupped. She brought his mouth against hers on a small sound of need. His hands caught her arms above the elbows and held. But he didn't stop her.

He didn't even want to. He wanted to feel anything, anything, anything but the pain that plagued him and raped him and left him empty. ANYTHING. Like the first time he'd touched her in Raccoon City all those years ago, this time was so much worse.

There was no Jill waiting to take away his pain. No Jill in the house, in the yard, in the next town over. Just the ghost of her and the hope of her and the pain of losing her and Dog and his soul. He was so raw. He wanted to feel ANYTHING.

She finally leaned back from him, flushed pink in the cold. "I just wanted you to stop looking at me like you sister. Or your fucking drug dealer. Or your lab mouse. Maybe you come back with Jill and you set up house and live happily ever after. I won't…get in the way. I won't stop it. I won't even say a word…but…I just…"

And she kissed him again. He actually moaned. Because it was good.

The girl was wrong.

The kiss was good.

The touching was good.

She whispered, "I just wanted to see you look at me…just once…like that. And maybe…see how it feels to touch a freight train."

Christ.

She started to pull her hands out of his pants. He shook his head. Her face flushed pink from ears to nose. She made a small sound in her throat.

He pushed her back against the wall and stole her breath. He kept his hands on her arms. She kept hers on his body.

His nose nuzzled her face up and he sank into her mouth.

He plunged his tongue into her, taking the small cry of it from her wet little mouth. There was the metallic give of his zipper and her hands had all the freedom they needed now. She spilled his sticky dick into her palms and did NOT play with him like a lab mouse. She played with him like an eager fairy. She sprinkled her needy pixie dust all over them both and took him flying.

His hand came up. It grabbed her face. He bumped her back against the wall.

He studied her face in the cold.

Her mouth was plump and swollen. She said, softly, "I'm here."

And she was. She was here. SHE was here.

And he was so fucking tired of being alone.

He felt the roar of the blood in his head. His hands finally shifted. They caught the knob of the door behind her and turned it.

They spilled backward into the house. She made a sound of excitement.

He looped one arm around her narrow waist and one arm lifted her. She wrapped her legs around him and made a small sound of excitement. He practically threw her on the kitchen table.

She spilled across it like an offering.

She sat up. He stepped between her thighs and jerked her hair back. The hat tumbled off her head to the table. He spilled the short silk of her hair into his hands and feasted on her mouth.

Rebecca put her hands all over him. She thought: freight train – holy hell. HOLY HELL.

He jerked at the zipper of her parka. His hands spilled over breasts in the tiny shirt she wore. She squealed as he wasn't gentle. Not at all. He palmed her, rough and dirty.

She was SO small. Even as he knew he was going to do this. He was going to throw his massive dick to this little thing on his table..he thought…she is SO SMALL. That part hadn't changed. In the ten years since he'd touched her last, she hadn't gotten any bigger.

She was still small and delicate.

He jerked off her boots while she moaned. She jerked off her pants like they were on fire. He wasn't thinking of Jill or Dog or death or conspiracies or bioterror. He was just thinking about fucking.

And it was the first time he'd been free of his ghosts in so long.

It was nearly insane how good it felt.

He lifted her again, in nothing but her little t-shirt. And he put her on the carpet in his living room. He spread her legs and filled her full of his fingers. She bucked, gasping. She jerked, crying out.

His son was sleeping peacefully down the hallway.

His life was in shambles. He was lost. He was half dead inside.

He didn't care anymore.

He was gentle, stroking, soft, spilling into her heat.

She shook her head. "No. Freight train. Remember?"

Shit.

"You're too small."

"So make me wider."

Holy shit.

She played her little hands all over his dripping junk.

She said, "I was a virgin. I'm not now. I loved a boy. He touched me. I'm ready. I'm READY. Touch me. I'll be good to you."

Good.

GOD.

Good god.

He didn't care anymore.

He shoved open her legs and fucked her so hard with his fingers she started screaming. So he threw a hand to her mouth to hold her down and keep her quiet. He cupped his palm against her creamy softness and put two into her so deep and endless, it made him weep into her sticky little fists that kept yanking on him while she bucked.

Holy shit.

He didn't have a fucking condom. He couldn't fuck her. The last time he fucked an eager girl playing with his dick, he knocked her up. So he finger fucked her like it was his dick in her.

She gasped, crying out, so wet that his fingers and hand slipped all over her while he forced her into her orgasm and she blew apart. She came so hard it made her face go pink. She sucked his fingers into her mouth while she did it, bucking and humping.

A pixie? She was a little evil sprite. She was the horniest damn thing he'd seen since Jill the first time he'd touched her. She was all sex and need.

Rebecca grabbed his sweater to drag him to her. She tongued his mouth like a possessed thing. Her hands were all over his junk. She rubbed her wet all over his jeans and his lap.

He shook his head, panting. Shaking a little. "I can't. I can't. I don't have anything. I can't."

And she laughed, laughed. "I'm on the pill. I'm a fucking scientist. A doctor. You think I don't know how to be on the pill when I'm sexually active!?"

Sexually active.

Lab mouse.

Scientist girl.

Evil Sprite.

She hooked her feet behind his ass to spill him onto her. She rubbed herself all over his dick. He grabbed her hands to put them over her head.

His other hand angled himself to her body. She spread her legs so wide. She jerked her hips at him, bright and eager.

His fucking hand could spread open on her damn hips and touch those hip bones.

SMALL.

He split her open with the head of him. He pushed it into her snug little wet passage. She mewled. She gasped. Her hands jerked in his over her head.

He grabbed her throat and said, "Look at me. Look here."

She did, pink faced and desperate. His voice was hoarse. He was shaking.

And it was the first time he didn't see Jill beneath him.

The need and the guilt and the want…it smashed around his guts and tried to kill him.

"I'm going to hurt you."

Her eyes blurred. Her little mouth opened in an "O" of excitement. She gasped. "I'll be good to you. Good for you. I'll take care of you. Let me take care of you. Let me take you. Ok?"

He pushed into her a little more. Barely an inch.

She keened a little. Her cheeks spilled with a blush. The stretch was enormous here. She couldn't take him. It was PHYSICALLY impossible. He'd fucked girls bowlegged his whole life. He'd rip this one, literally, in half.

And Rebecca gasped now, gasped. She gasped, and nearly broke him, "I will make you happy. I swear to god. Let me. Let me make you happy. Please. Please."

CHEESE AND RICE.

She leaned up. She took his face. She kissed his closed eyes, his nose, his mouth. Soft, so sweet, smooth. She whispered, "Please. It's ok. It's ok. I'll take care of you. I will. Let me love you. Chris…let me love you."

Jessica in the middle of the night. Let me take care of you.

Jesus Christ.

He was haunted by more than one of them now. Jill – in his fucking soul. Jessica – in his fucking nightmares. He just wanted to be free. Just be free.

These god damn women loving him and ripping him apart and wanting him. He just wanted peace. PEACE.

Was he some kind of fucking mess that these women were always trying to love him and take care of him?

Rebecca wasn't Jessica. She wasn't JILL. She wasn't broken. She was sweet. And good. And kind.

If he did this. If he threw down on her…it was DIFFERENT. Jessica had been nothing. Jill was everything. What was Rebecca?

He opened his eyes. He grabbed her face.

His friend. His pal. This girl that wanted to love him and heal him and help him. Could she? Would she? THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT OF HIM in the shell that was between her legs.

But that was a lie too. Because there was. It was in that bedroom where Kit slept. It was buried in the last slim hope that was Africa. The last hope.

He knew what happened if he went there and Jill wasn't there.

He knew.

It meant she was dead.

And it was the first time he let himself think she might be dead. She might be dead. And then what?

What?

Would he go with her? Would he just die with her?

Or would he find someone else to love him? That wanted to have his babies and fuck him and hold him?

He panted a little. He held her face. And he said, "If she's gone…if she's not there…if I've lost her…I don't know how to come back from that."

It was so surreal to say it poised between another woman's legs.

But it was REBECCA. And she grabbed his wrists where they held her face. Her body shimmered. Her belly trembled. And she said, "You will. I will help you. I love you. I LOVE YOU. This one time, let me love you. And if she's gone? I will keep loving you. I will keep waiting. And you will come back. I swear."

She didn't just want to fuck him. She wanted to love him. To be with him. To raise his son and sit beside him and fill the hole left by Jill Valentine.

What had Claire said to him?

Sometimes you had to let go, to start healing, to start living. Jill would kick his ass if she saw what he had become. A disgrace.

So, he whispered, "I'm fucking broken, Rebecca. A fucking mess."  
She trembled.

She brought him down to her now, so soft. She kissed him, sweet. Sweet. He'd always found her so sweet. She shivered in his grip, with the feel of him snug inside of her needy little center, and breathed, "I know you are. I know you are. We'll fix it. We'll fix it. I'll fix you."

Jesus Christ.

He wanted someone to fix him. He wanted something to spill passed the pain and find anything but grief and madness and loss. He was so fucking lonely.

Rebecca whispered, "It's ok. It's ok." She kissed his mouth, his nose, his eyes. She kissed him. And she rocked her little body on him.

She urged, "Let me love you. It doesn't have to hurt, Chris. It doesn't have to hurt. Let me love you."

And he whispered, brokenly, "…I don't know how."

He eased out of her. He collapsed atop her. And she held him. She held him in her arms.

Sweet.

She didn't push. She didn't take.

She was an angel.

And he was afraid to let her love him. He wasn't even sure who he was...without Jill.

In the lab, Wesker watched her where she lay on the table. The device was fitted to her chest. It was wired to her and secured. She was still herself, lying naked on the table as he prepared the first injection of the day.

His hand slid down her belly. It played at her naked pubis. It slid into the inside of her thigh.

She stared at the ceiling, seething.

He said, "How does this end, Jill? Once – it was you beside me. Once – it was you with me in the new world. Now? You are nothing more than my immortal warrior. Fighting my battles…against your will. I will keep you alive as long as your mortal shell allows it. I will enjoy watching you murder him when he comes here. Will you cry as he dies? Trapped inside you shell?"

Jill said nothing, staring the ceiling. He traced one lovely breasts and feathered her nipple. It tightened, instinctively. And he laughed a little. "Your body still craves mine. I wonder…what he will say when he discovers what you were to me. Will he forgive you? Will he take you back into his loving arms? Will he fuck the heat of you and picture my face?"

Wesker cupped her throat, he pulled her face to him. She stared, sightless, bored.

He grinned. "Will you both? I think yes. Kiss me and I will spare you the injection this morning. I will leave you yourself to guard Irving at my command."

She stared him, cold.

Her will amused him.

"No?"

He lifted the device in his hands.

Jill shifted. She grabbed his face. And she kissed him. Hard. Fast. Angry.

He laughed. "I once thought you'd be my goddess, Jill. My companion. Instead? You will be my slave. If you come to my bed on your own, I will spare you the P30 this evening. Spread your legs and take me as your lover and I will leave you in your body. Your body misses mine, Jill. It hungers. Feed it. If you do, I will relent on the P30. Please me...I will relent."

Jesus Christ.

She closed her eyes.

This was how he showed his power. By having her come to him of his own free will. She didn't know what was worse...the P30 or the price of being saved from it.

She'd done this to herself. She'd slid into his arms to try to play with the Devil. Instead, he'd played her. His ugly lies. His darkness. Part of her had enjoyed him. It disgusted her.

Was he right?

Would Chris ever forgive her?

Was there words in the universe enough to explain it?

She'd been so cruel about Jessica. Who was nothing. A girl. A liar. A fool.

But she?

She'd made love to the DEVIL.

How would he ever forgive that?

How would she ever make it right?

Wesker stroked her face. She felt the tremor of hatred in her belly. She stared at the wall over his head.

And he turned as Fergusson emerged into the lab.

"Allow her to follow Irving this morning of her own volition. She is a good girl. Have Miracella stand guard with her. If she…misbehaves. I will be alerted. And the device activated. Are we clear?"

Fergusson nodded sharp and fast.

"Good." Wesker turned and grinned. He cupped Jill's jaw and turned her face up to him. "Kiss me goodbye, Jill."

She didn't. But she let him kiss her.

And leave with a laugh.

Fergusson glanced at her. He said, "Don't give up. I heard some of the other people talking. In Kijuju, they're talking about the outsiders."

Jill glanced at his face. "Yeah. The outsiders. It means there's boots on the ground that aren't familiar, Jill. They are probably your people right? Right?"

Oh, god.

Was it too much to hope?

The feel of it nearly killed her.

She put her face in her hands.

And Fergusson, who'd come to care for her a great deal, offered her the battlesuit she wore for Wesker. She slid it on and Fergusson said, nervously, "Jill...how about...um..."

She slid up the zipper. The suit molded everything in place. No need for anything but the tiny panties she wore beneath. The suit kept her breasts right up and ready. It was custom made for her. She felt disgusted when she wore it.

She turned back and the SATphone on his desk was ringing. She shot her eyes to his face in shock.

And the machine went off:

If you're calling for directions to the reception, try Claire's cell. First thing saturday, we'll be gone - all weekend long. But I'll buzz you back on Sunday afternoon.

She waited for it, eyes closed.

P.S. If this is Jill? I need a sign. I need- something. Anything. I'm so lost. I'm so sorry.

Oh, my god.

The pain in him. It was so wide. Dog was gone. She was gone. He had his son. His son. But he was so alone. He was so alone.

She was so alone.

She put her face in her hands. She shook.

The message beeped. And Fergusson didn't hang up. HE DIDN'T HANG UP. He whispered, "...she's still here. Don't give up...you big squish."

And he hung up.

Jill lifted her head to look at him, heart HAMMERING.

And Fergusson said, "...maybe love breaks the spell. Corny...but maybe love breaks the spell, Jill. Now? Now you now he'll come for you. For your dog. For YOU. Now you know he'll come. You said he was your squish. Now he'll come for you. You just have to HANG ON."

And she stood there...terrified.

And shaking with HOPE.

She had to help him. She had to help him.

And she needed to be herself to do that.

She needed to be free of the P30.

And she knew the price for that was her soul.

Kit went down for bed after dinner.

It was a good evening.

Rebecca...kept them laughing. She played and laughed and did funny voices. She was so fucking smart that she taught his son about boring science shit while they ate tacos.

He showed her pictures of he'd drawn of scribbles. "Daddy."

A fat circle with a google eye. Vaguely like a cyclops.

Rebecca nodded sagely. "I see that. An accurate portrait. Maybe fatter though. Like this." And she made the fat blob enormous.

Chris was doing the dishes. He turned his head. He gave her a deadpan expression. She lifted hers from the picture...and winked.

And he...laughed.

He laughed.

And it didn't kill him. It just felt good to laugh.

She did bath time. She helped with bubbles. She pulled his son from the water giggling and handed him to Chris in the enormous fluffy towel. "Carefully Daddy. Slippery when wet."

Kit giggled.

It was...domestic.

It was...easy.

It was...life.

It wasn't Jill's kid. It wasn't Jill beside him putting his kid to bed.

There was no Jill in this house.

But Jill was everywhere.

In his blood and his bones and his heart. In his soul and his tears and his dreams. Jill was everywhere. But Jill wasn't here.

And he could still laugh.

He could still feel...something.

I need a sign.

Was this it?

Was she telling him to move on?

Was the Great Spirit urging him to say goodbye?

He stood in the hallway as Rebecca came out of his son's room. She closed the door. She smiled. She said, "A good day."

And it was. He'd worked some. He'd fucked a pretty girl. He'd played with his son. It was a good day.

The first he'd had without Jill in a long time.

What did it mean?

Rebecca patted his belly. She said, "I'll head out and see you at work in the morning."

And he caught her face.

The dim light of the kitchen, the spill of her eyelashes. Her hands lifted and curled over his biceps.

He said, "Are you sure you want to take a chance on a mess, Rebecca? You deserved a nice boy then. A good boy to love you. A good boy to share your life with. A fuck on the floor is one thing. You start trying to love me, hold on to me, heal me...it's a hard road. I don't know where it ends. I don't know if I can."

Rebecca spilled her hands over his face too now, molding, measuring. She touched him, memorizing with her hands.

"I'm not going anywhere, Chris. If you aren't ready. If you aren't. It's ok. But only you can decide if you want to try. Let me in, I won't fail you."

Let me in, Jill, I absolutely will not fail you.

His heart.

He held that face.

And he'd had a good day.

Maybe that's how you moved on.

One good day at a time.

Rebecca kissed his mouth, gently. "I should get going here. No pressure ok?"

He kept holding her face.

She watched his eyes...and moved in. He slid his arms around her. He lifted her against his front. She breathed sharp and fast.

And he said, "Stay. If you want? Stay."

And she answered, "I want. I want to stay."

It scared him. And it hurt.

And it was the hardest thing he'd said to a woman in a long time.

He pressed her into the wall. He spilled her into his bed.

The clothes melted. The hands moved. The moonlight spilled over the sheets. He touched her. She slid around him.

They blended. She mended.

Her gasps and the taste of her. She held his eyes in the soft shadows.

His heart HAMMERED.

He was afraid. So afraid. That if he let go...he'd fall apart.

She whispered, "What do you need, Chris? What do you want?"

Jill.

But there was no Jill.

There was a girl that loved him. That offered him love and hope and children. And he said, "Forgiveness."

Rebecca held his face. She breathed, "For what?"

And Chris whispered, "Letting go."

She opened her arms. And he slid against her body.

She gasped. Small but needy. She took him, his face pressed to her breasts. His ear laid on her narrow chest.

He nestled against her body. She cuddled him to her.

It that single moment...he wasn't alone anymore.

The locket on his chest spilled warm against him. It settled. It left his eyes full of everything.

Just him. Just Chris Redfield...without Jill Valentine.

His hands brought her to him as she took his mouth in a slow wet kiss. And he sat up in the moonlit dark to hold her, to pull her into his lap, and let her hold him. He held her around him, skin to skin, just holding.

Just holding.

Just him...just Chris Redfield.

And the angel that wanted to love him.

She moved into the room.

He watched her.

The torchlight shifted.

It spilled orange and gold on his face.

It matched his eyes.

He leaned back in the chair. He set his pen down on the desk.

He said, "Are you ready for bed, Jill?"

She lifted her hands and slid down the zipper of the battlesuit.

He rose from the desk. She the battlesuit fall to the floor. She walked in her tiny panties to the big gold bed. She climbed on the scratchy comforter. The mirror spilled flawless above her. She laid on her back.

The scarab on her chest controlled her. It owned her. It left her eyes empty.

But not the P30 - just her. Just Jill Valentine.

Lying beneath the lips of the Devil.

His hands brought her to him as he took her. He spilled her into his lap, he pulled her into his lap, and she went...and let him.

Just her...Just Jill Valentine...without Chris Redfield.

Just Jill Valentine.

And the devil that wanted to own her.

Her body opened. It gasped. She opened her legs.

He slid between them. He guided her hips to him.

And he slid so gently into her.

She didn't want the gentle. She hated the gentle.

She turned her face away, closing her eyes.

Her feet planted on the bed as he surged between her legs. The naked length of him delved. His tongue teased. He tasted her and took her and the scarab on her chest taunted her in the mirror above them.

Her hands flew up without prompting. His blonde hair, hers, his perfect body. Muscles and lithe pale skin. He shifted, his hand slid between.

She whispered, "No."

But he did. He delved there and pleasured her. The sensitive nub. The needy heat of her. He played there while he rose to his knees above her. Her hips tilted to him. Her knees bent. He caught her throat in his hand and flicked, slid, studied.

He commanded, smoothly, "Give me your pleasure, Jill."

She shook her head. He split her open. He hammered into her now. Faster, harder, needier. She turned her face. He caught it, turned it back, and stroked her body. Stroked into her body. She was slick and tight around him, wet, wet, her traitorous body taking him, taking it, and her hatred as wet in her blood as her body was.

He commanded, softly, "Now, Jill. Now."

And he pulled a desperate cry from her. A denial. A gasp. And she came, bucking, head to the side, denying.

He laughed, softly, and grabbed her hips.

He jerked her onto him...and possessed her.

The wet sheath of her took him. She bucked. She jerked. She milked him.

She denied him.

Her body opened and took his cock. Swallowed it. She cried out.

Her hands landed on his ass. They held his hips.

"Oh, GOD!"

He was. Didn't she remember that? He laughed now, dark. And tongued one of her needy breasts beside the scarab.

Her body sucked him in. She bowed, fucking back on his thunderous plunging.

Her body made a wet, wet squelching sucking sound - taking him, suckling him into the heat of her. She felt him tighten. She pushed at his shoulders.

She didn't want THAT in her again.

But her body kept rising for the hammer of his body into her. Even as her hands pushed at him. And her head turned away.

"God, DON'T!"

But he came. Scalding. He filled her up. He jerked her face up and fucked her mouth with his tongue. He grunted and came hot and wet in her eager body.

She hated him.

Jill put her face in her hand, shaking, quaking...and hated herself.

Because his face above her.

The wrong face.

The wrong heart.

He just wanted to own her.

And she was lost in nightmares.

Alone.

He put his lips to her ear and whispered, "That's right, Jill. You're mine."

And there was no more hope here.

Just Jill Valentine...without Chris Redfield.

Just Jill...and the Devil.

He rolled off her.

She curled on her side...and wept.

The sunlight tickled his nose. He opened one eye.

And he wasn't alone.

For the first time in so long, he wasn't alone.

It shivered in him like pain.

His fingers shifted. He touched her sleeping face. Small. She was so small.

I want to have all your babies...

Once it was babies for him. And Jill. And this cabin where his parents had loved each other. And Dog.

And Claire.

Could it be Rebecca?

Could it be him...without Jill?

Her eyes fluttered open. Pretty. Blue.

She smiled at him, "You ok?"

And he said, "I think I will be. You ok?"

Rebecca's eyes twinkled. She, winked at him...and gave him a thumbs up.

She was fucking adorable.

Maybe that was what came after dying. You rose from your ashes and found an adorable little creature to love you. That wanted to have your babies.

And didn't care that you were desperately in love with another woman.

A possibly dead woman.

A probably dead woman.

He tried it out loud. But it scared him to death, "Jill is dead."

Rebecca blinked at him. "What?" She shifted toward him. "What?"

He tried it again. "They said Jill is dead."

Rebecca took his face. She touched his beard. She said, "What do you feel?"

Not what do you know. What do you FEEL. She was a good girl. Pure. His FRIEND. And she wanted to love him.

He whispered, "Lost."

Rebecca took him to her. She put his hear over her heart. His arms slid around her thin frame and held.

He listened to the beat of her heart.

She said, quietly, "I'm so sorry, Chris. I'm so sorry she's gone. But it'll be ok. Someday? You'll be ok. And I'll be right here."

He closed his eyes. He held on.

She stroked his hair. He was so big. He took over everything he touched. He made her feel tiny and delicate. She'd never figured out why Jill hadn't grabbed and held on and never let go.

Would he let her? If she tried now?

She said, softly, "Will you let me love you?"

He couldn't answer. He was afraid to say yes. Afraid to say no. Afraid to say goodbye to Jill. Afraid to hang on. It was everywhere.

He shifted. She gasped.

And he slid right into her.

One sharp move, hilt deep. She was wet and warm and willing and her little body was ripe for it. Small or not. Her center took him in like a mouth. It stole his breath too. Because he couldn't believe how she took him. Her body just...absorbed. The whole fat length of him.

He leaned back, watching her face. Her thighs were shivering around his hips. He whispered, "You ok?"

Her breath shuddered out. Her hand lifted...in that thumbs up. His eyes twinkled. Hers echoed it. She whispered, "You are fucking huge. Holy god."

And he laughed.

He laughed, balls deep in her body, he laughed.

He eased back and her wet little core let him go with a small slick sound. He eased back to the tip, watching her face. Her eyes crossed. She grappled at his shoulders. She made a small mewl.

"You want me to stop?"

And now SHE laughed. She slid her hands down to grip his ass. "No. NO. No. Please. No."

Jesus. He was afraid to like her. He liked her. She was so fucking cute. His fucking dick was as big as her. But she was gasping, sucking it down like a whore's mouth, and quaking for it.

Good lord.

"Be sure. Ok? I could hurt you. Be sure."

"Oh. Oh, god." He pushed all the way in, stole her breath on a cry, and eased back again. "Oh. Go. Please. Go now. Go. OK? Go."

And she looked at him.

Like she loved him. Like she had those narrow thighs around his hips and he was buried in her up to her chest. God.

He didn't like the love. But he liked her little needy body. It was virgin tight. It was slick. Wet. And it WANTED him. He eased out and pushed in harder. She gasped. She bowed. Her body? Sucked it down.

He liked her.

Jill had said that once. She said - you like her?

He liked her.

It was something. And a good start.

He rasped, "Ready? You ready honey? Be sure."

Rebecca laughed, breathless. "Like I'm climbing a mountain? How can you possibly need to ask a girl that?"

He scooped her hair off her face. "I'm big, honey. You're small. I'll stop though. Ok? Just say stop. And I'll stop."

Rebecca grabbed his face. "Don't. Don't ever stop. I will die if you stop. Go. Give me what you can. Anything you can. I can take it. I want it. Please."

So needy. Tender. Sweet.

The wrong face.

The right heart.

Trying to help him. Hold him. Feel him.

He judged her face, afraid of the tender, afraid of the need, and gave her what she'd come for. The freight train.

Her mouth opened. His tongue spilled inside. And he eased himself out of her body to the tip. She gasped.

He gathered her little body into him. He bracketed her head and tilted her hips and plowed into her.

Wet. She was instantly wet.

And dying. She was dying. He split her in half. She was sure of that. But no. No. Her body took it. It loved it. It opened and swallowed his massive cock. Jesus.

He watched her face. He watched her body. She bowed. She gasped.

Small.

Sweet.

Angelic. Smooth. Young.

SMALL.

And she was.

And mighty. Because it was the first time, in ten fucking years, he thought maybe there was Chris Redfield without Jill Valentine.

And maybe he'd be able to let someone else love him.

Maybe that was ok.

He would go to Africa and find the answers. He go to Africa and find the truth. And find the forgiveness that came with letting her go.

Because it was the only way he went on now.

By avenging her in Africa….and finally letting her go.

So, he did something he hadn't ever done. Ever. Since the moment he'd tossed her on that bed in her little apartment in Raccoon City and put his mouth to her…he opened his heart, just a little, and let someone else in.

It didn't kill him.

But it was close.

And he was so fucking lonely.

He didn't want to be alone. For just a minute. For just a minute.

He made a small sound of grief and opened his eyes. And he watched her face. The girl beneath him. As he slid completely inside of her…and tried to finally find Chris Redfield again…without Jill Valentine.

Maybe it started by letting an angel touch him…for just a little while.

She was small. But mighty. She took every inch as he hammered into her. She octopus held him.

He grabbed her throat and tilted her face back to look at her. He gasped and started to pull out.

She grabbed for him. Her legs hooked around him.

He tried to slow down. Tried to stop.

Gasping, he said, "I'm gonna come, Rebecca, I need to p-"

"No. No. It's safe. Remember? It's ok. It's ok. Oh, god. Oh it's ok. Ok? Go. Go."

The thrill of that spilled on her pixie face. The wrong face. But the right heart.

Open.

It wanted to love him.

He was so fucking lonely.

I want to have all your babies..

Christ.

He felt her go. She just...went. Umprompted. She came around him, bucking, crying out. Her little breasts bouncing.

The wrong breasts.

The right heart.

It wanted to heal him.

He turned her face to the side. He wasn't ready for that. Not that. Not yet.

He closed his eyes.

His phone was ringing. He could hear it ringing.

He hammered into her body. He plowed her through her release. She was so wet. Wet. Wet sheets and clenching.

He grunted. He was so tired of being lost.

So tired of being...alone.

He turned her face back. He opened his eyes.

She gasped his name, "Chris...I want to be yours."

He grunted. It spilled into his balls. It rode into his body. He ground out, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah. Please. Yeah."

And he dropped his face. His mouth settled beside her ear. She whispered, "...and you can be mine."

And he came. He came. He filled her up. He grunted and came hot and wet in her eager little body.

She mewled. She begged for it.

And the answering machine whirred.

He collapsed atop her. He slid out of her. She stroked him. Sweaty, they stuck together and panted. She turned his face to her and kissed him, wet, tongues, tongue and lips.

Wet.

..big squish...

He froze.

He stopped.

Rebecca licked his mouth.

But he was frozen.

What had it said?

WHAT HAD IT SAID?

He rolled off her. She shot up to her elbows, surprised.

Naked, he strode from the bedroom.

In the hallway, Rebecca watched him. God DAMN he was something to see naked. All muscle. She ACHED between her legs from him. She regretted not fucking him stupid in Raccoon City all those years ago. Maybe she'd have stolen him then from Jill. And things would be something else now.

It was interesting to be jealous of a dead woman.

And then?

He hit the rewind button on the machine.

Jill - I'm so sorry.

His message.

And then? AND THEN?

The answer: ...she's still here...don't give up...you big squish.

The voice he didn't recognize. Not even a little.

But the gasp that followed?

He'd heard it in his ears a thousand times.

Rebecca made one now, hand to her mouth.

He was dizzy. His head...he was dizzy.

He turned back to the hallway.

Rebecca held his eyes. She whispered. "You weren't wrong. You weren't wrong. She's waiting for you. You have to go. Go get her."

The wrong face.

The right heart.

She just wanted to love him.

Even if it meant letting him go chase the other piece of his soul.

"Rebecca..."

"No...it's ok. It's ok, Chris. I will keep Kit. Go. Go get her back. Are you kidding? Go. Hurry."

He moved down the hallway passed her. She lifted a hand to his chest. And he kissed her forehead.

He kissed her forehead.

It killed her.

But she whispered, "Go. Hurry."

He bumped his forehead to hers. She made a small sound and shook her head.

He murmured, "Thank you...I'm so sorry."

He went to the bedroom.

Rebecca moved to the phone to call Barry. To call Claire.

She heard Chris in the shower now. She looked at herself in the mirror behind his couch.

It was ok.

It was.

She knew there was no Chris Redfield without Jill Valentine.

She knew that.

And yet?

Just a girl that wasn't Jill Valentine...unable to let go of Chris Redfield.

When she knew the shower was on and pulsing loudly, she put her face in her hands and wept.


	31. Chapter 31

A/N: A lot of mixed feedback on that last chapter. Keeping it real for me, I enjoy that. This one didn't pour out of me as easily. I struggled with how far I wanted to go into Africa and 5. But if I wanted to write 5, that feels like a whole story waiting to be had.

I loosely messed around with it years ago when I wrote my silly little love story with Sheva and Chris. I could pen it completely but there's not enough Jill in it to interest me. Haha.

Either way - keep the honest reviews coming. I love them. I only ask that you keep them constructive. There's no reason to throw insults at me. Remember one very important fact: this is still MY story. I love sharing it with everyone. I do. And I have to admit that if you're going to drop anonymous reviews flaming me, I'm not sure I'm interested in your opinion anyway. I encourage constructive feedback, and have shared plenty with lots of you. The ones that throw insults at me and snark from an anonymous account are just mean and I don't have time or inclination to want to deal with them. You've read 30 chapters of this story - why flame me now? It's ok to dislike where I take things. That's just fine.

My explanation is simple: Chris doesn't know that Jill is alive. He HOPES. He FEELS. He doesn't KNOW. And if I was Jill? Jill who loves him so much she's in slavery for him...I'd want him to be happy. He's miserable. He's empty. He's a freaking mess. It'll get better. WE know that. But the character doesn't at this point.

I used the last chapter to show the DRASTIC differences between one world and the other. Where Jill is a slave and drawn to her captor, where she'll be eroded and left like a shell if she keeps going into his arms. Where Chris is a husk, looking for ANYTHING to fill him. He's so empty he's already half dead anyway. Rebecca offers him the chance to pantomime at life with her. He has a kid, he thinks...why not? Better then being dead right? But he's already dead. He listens to a fucking teddy bear every night to hear Jill's voice. He's done for. But Chris Redfield doesn't just lay down and die right? He has to at least try to get up and go on with his life.

And then? The phone call. And all the faking, all the lying, all the pretending - all the fighting and the fucking and forgetting - it's done. Because RIGHT THERE - is the only thing that matters.

And he becomes our hero again off to save his girl.

In one hand, I love the negative reactions from the last chapter. It was meant to incite disgust. Maybe not so MUCH disgust, but I guess I should be proud my story touches so deeply for some of you. I made myself cry writing parts, so that tells you how manic I get writing. (I'm working on that too).

Thank you again for reading it. Let's see if I can end it in a way that keeps with the uneven, weird, too smutty, LONG but BIG HEART tone I've laid down.

Slainte.

_TLF

XXXI: Phoenix

:::::::::::::Thirty-One::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 – Tricell Oil Fields

It is often said in the moment before we die, the body goes through a series of revelations that begin to sum up the total of our existence in a way that shows us our purpose. On this particular day, in this particular moment, the man standing atop the mountain in the heated, torturous push of fetid and smoky air couldn't find his purpose. He was lost, he was forsaken, he was trembling on the threshold of something close to the edge.

Were he to step one way, he would take a tremulous and tactless leap into the abyss that had often tempted him over the last three years. He would tumble, quickly or perhaps entirely too slowly, down into the pit of pompous regret and rage that festered with disease and rot in the canyon of his failure. Would she be there? Would she? The woman he'd failed. The woman that haunted him in his blood, in his soul, in his bones. Would she?

Jill.

She was everywhere. She wasn't anywhere. She was the wind and the wide open sky and the long nights of rage beneath a bottle of whiskey and at the core of a woman whose name he didn't know, couldn't care about, but that received the thrusting, raping, rapid end of his endless emptiness. And still? She wasn't there.

Jill.

SHE was his regret. She was his pulsing, pumping, consuming maw of loss. She was all there had ever been and never would be again. She was in his dreams, in his day to day, in his mirror when he shaved or shed the skin and suit of his facade. She was in his hands when they ripped and tore and turned his life into a quagmire of crap around him. She was inside of him. And she wouldn't leave. She was his virus, his infection, his obsession and his need. She was everywhere.

And she was nowhere.

If he were to step the other way? He might find his salvation. He might find the relief to his suffering. Perhaps he'd find his ability to redeem, to forgive himself, and to move on toward something that would equate with the eternal and endless state of forgetting. Maybe he could forget her. Maybe he could forget her face and her laugh and the power of her eyes while she rose above him.

Could he finally, finally, finally forget the sound of her voice? The feel of her hair? The smell of her? The scent of her…it HAUNTED him. She was his poltergeist. She was his boiling, burning, blasting force of regret that bred and bled maddening grief inside of his cavernous guilt. The guilt. THE GUILT. It stole his breath, it robbed him of anything but the moments of waking to find himself on the floor of some dirty bar somewhere with nothing but broken glass and blood. The guilt was his mistress, his muse, his reason for breathing, walking, fighting and fucking. The guilt was his only friend.

He courted her like a whore. He paid her to stay in him, on him, and embrace him with her noxious and never ending emasculation. He paid her to rape him and rob him of his ability to, even now, resemble himself.

Who was he?

He'd been Chris Redfield once. A long time ago. A long time before when the world was a place that wasn't built on the back of his own destruction. A long time ago when the world was a place that wasn't filled with her face and the fire of his own revenge.

Revenge? How could he revenge her when the villain is dead? How do you get revenge when there is no one to fight?

The eternal struggle.

The fires of death chased him now, the man who'd been Chris Redfield, they chased him like a thing possessed. He chased her memory. He chased her face. He chased the idea of her that had once stood beside him, stood behind him, stood in front of him and offered him the world. He chased her ghost.

And he would never catch her.

Would he?

He glanced down at the PDA in his hand. It was tiny. Just a little bit of a thing. Useless, save for its ability to drop kick a grenade of hope into the seventh pit of hell that was his need. It resonated, exploding where it touched, annihilating where it fell.

Because her ghost was right there. It was right there before him. She wasn't haunting him. She was just there. She was there with him. She was here in him.

His eyes surveyed the wide-open wasteland before him. He'd come to work, to steep himself in the familiar, to forgive himself once more through the righteous acts of a warrior. He atoned for her loss every day by picking up the gun, strapping on the fight, and facing the darkness. It was how he honored her, how he kept her alive inside of him, and how he offered himself as a sacrifice to whatever power controlled the fates enough to determine if it was his time to lay down the sword and finally give the fight his life.

The sun had just started to crest and curl beneath the distant horizon. It cast a shadow across the burning landscape, showing the coming night with a cooling, almost lover's touch. The days blazed with the fire of a thousand suns, the desert offering little to no respite for the weary and worn traveler trapped in her fevered embrace. The nights were a sharp contrast, lending the ability to shiver and freeze from the rapid and rotating temperature change.

A long curl of smoke slid over the sweaty, filthy, handsome and determined countenance of the man that waited, watching the night flirt with the day and offer a promise in her lurid embrace. Come on, she urged, submit and I will cover you and take you away. And the day? The day gave in with a sigh and a kiss of final goodbye. The boiling heat began to recede and the fine dark hair on his muscled arms stood up, telling him it was going to be a cold night.

He stared across the terrain, taking the measure of what came between, what came before, and what came again when the moment of self-reflection passed and he was, once again, Chris Redfield. Would he find her there? Would she even be his anymore? Or would she have turned, tossed aside her own soul, and become that which he'd spent his entire life fighting?

If she is gone…can you kill her?

It was a question that haunted him. It was a question that had no answer. It was a question that he couldn't, wouldn't and didn't want to face. She was inside of him. If she was gone, again, would he survive it?

Could he survive it?

And did he want to?

The inky smoke of his destruction swirled and caught in the wind that whistled and whipped with a vengeance down from the spirals of mountains that speared their stone fingers into the sky. There was nothing left down below where they'd been. He'd left nothing in his path. He'd come like the fires of hell, like the wrath of the gods, like the hammer of destruction and he'd abolished, he'd torn down the world and tossed it screaming into the abyss. He was there to find her. He wouldn't stop, he absolutely would not ever stop, until he had the answers.

Beneath the filthy vest he wore, protecting the fragile muscle beneath the bone, he wore her locket. He'd known then, known always, that she was his. That he was hers. That they were bound, inextricably linked, lost on the tide of their own friendship. It was coupled with the Saint George Medal she'd given him on his birthday that first winter together.

"This is the guy who fights dragons. He SLAYS dragons. You slay dragons, Red. You do. Take him with you. And see what you can do."

She'd always been his light, his strength, the growing sense of his purpose. He fought to free the world from the clutches of madness, megalomania, terror…he fought to bring honor to her faith in him. They were the right and the left arm of justice. Without her, his arm had gotten so tired. He'd hurt her once…he'd denied. He'd judged her. Who was he to judge?

Just a man…trying to slay dragons…without an arm.

But he was alive now. He was ALIVE in a way that he hadn't been in so long. He was awake and alert and Chris Redfield. He was Chris Redfield again.

Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine - Twin souls. His needed hers. And she was WAITING for him. He could FEEL it.

And his voice carried on the wind, soft and determined, strong and unstoppable. He was St. George and he was going to slay the dragon for her. He was going to find her. He was going to bring her back to him.

It was all he knew. It was all he had. It was all he was.

"Hold on, Jill," The sound of it peppered the sky with determination. It lit the tapestry of the day with his dawning destruction. He would lay waste to the world to fulfill that promise. "I'm coming for you."

He ripped the B.S.A.A. emblem off the arm of his uniform and watched it fall. It flipped, fluttered, and landed amongst the raging fires of his imperiled fate. It burned, sending plumes of rebirth into the shifting, steaming sky around him.

He was no longer the man who made the mission. He wasn't the man who followed the rules. He wasn't the man who kicked in the doors for the cause.

He was the Phoenix.

And from the ashes of his own regret, he burst forth now. Born again in the blood of his failure, he baptized himself in the waters of determination, in hope, and in redemption. Because if she was alive…then the man who'd taken her was alive.

Revenge was often cold. But this wasn't cold. This? It was fire. It burned where it touched. Revenge against the man who'd taken her. Revenge against the man who'd emptied them and filled them with regret and loss and grief. Revenge…against Albert Wesker.

Bigger. Stronger. Faster. Inhuman. Without the drug, Chris was just a man. Just a man against impossible odds. There was no hope here. No help.

Just a man…missing an arm.

An underdog. A phoenix. A human tank.

It was time for him to rise. And become St. George.

And it was time for St. George to slay the dragon.

Africa- March 10th 2009- Three Days Prior to the Death of Ricardo Irving -

He wasn't sure that she would be there. He was racing toward a mirage. He was moving toward a phantom. A lie? A promise? It was something.

The girl beside him was so quiet.

He rolled his head, considering her.

Pretty. Young.

Again with that word: young.

He thought of Rebecca. Waiting like a phantom in the wings for a man with no soul. How could he expect her to sit around waiting on him? A nice girl. A little pathetic in her own way to chase around a man still in love with another woman. But who was he to judge?

He was chasing a ghost.

He pictured Jill. He pictured her face. Jill – I slept with Rebecca. I was trying to feel ANYTHING.

The master of stupid sexual decisions.

He'd used Jessica. He'd used Rebecca. Who was he kidding here? He was INCAPABLE of feeling anything for anyone but Jill. From the moment she'd come into his life, it was all he knew. It was all he understood. The rest of the world was another language. He only spoke Jill.

And if Jill was…dead?

If Jill was gone?

He didn't have the answer.

It was a thousand degrees in the Savannah. The sweat on his face was thick and cloying. It cut off oxygen to the brain when you had to breathe so shallow and low. The world was a wet hand of humidity and rousing labored lungs.

The girl at his side was a trooper. She'd met him outside of Kijuju with a smile.

Mr. Redfield – your reputation proceeds you.

Just Chris thanks…you must be my contact.

Your pah'tner in fact. I'm Sheva Alomar.

Sheva.

A good girl.

He was saying that a lot lately too. A good girl. What was a "good" girl? A girl that waited in the wings for so long? Loving him in secret? A girl willing to settle for nothing?

Before he'd left the cabin. Rebecca had been feeding his son.

She'd risen to see him off. He was STRAPPED with more gear than a fucking tank.

She'd encouraged, "Be careful. Bring her back. Ok?"

He'd stood there for a long moment, watching her. She meant it.

She meant every word.

He hated women sometimes. Couldn't just one, just ONE, make fucking sense all the time? Was that so hard?!

Annoyed with her, he'd slung his words at her like a slap, "How can you settle for nothing, Rebecca? Don't you think you deserve more than that?"

Without facing him, feeding his kid, she'd answered, "We accept the love we think we deserve."

What did that even mean?

She felt like she was nothing?

Cheese and rice.

He'd turned her to face him. He'd said it, because it needed said, because she was a "good" girl. "If I go there and Jill is gone. She's lost. If she's dead or beyond me…I won't come back here ready to heal. I don't know that I'll come back here completely at all. I keep trying to play this game where I look in the mirror and see Chris Redfield. But even still? I don't know who the fuck that is anymore, Rebecca. I don't know. That's what you're trying to love here. A fucking mess. Because I'm missing pieces like a goddamn Tin Man. I think you deserve someone who can be your other piece, Rebecca. Your heart. Your soul. I'm just a guy that can occasionally throw you a hug and some dick. That's what you want?"

Rebecca smiled sadly. She shrugged a little. "Sometimes we take what we can get."

"Christ, Rebecca. Why do that? Why sell yourself short?"

Rebecca eyed him quietly, "If Jill comes back…if she's not herself…if she's broken or…if she's here but GONE…would you just walk away? Would you give up and turn your back?"

"Are you fucking kidding? No."

"Yeah. Sometimes we just keep holding on. It's what we do. I hope you find her. I really, really do. I hope you bring her back and she makes you so happy. I want you happy. It's all I wanted. Whatever that means? It's all I want."

He kept staring at her, trying to figure out what this was. Jill – risking the world. Rebecca – offering it. And the price? The price wasn't something he could understand. This was love? One pain for another?

What did he do with that?

She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Be careful. Be brave. Stay safe. Bring her back…there's no Chris Redfield without Jill Valentine."

Jesus.

He paused at the door.

He turned back and he picked up his son from the highchair. Kit was grinning. He kissed his mouth, sloppy and cute, "Daddy…" And he mimicked shooting guns.

The smile bloomed, genuine, and full. Chris laughed a little and said, "You got that right. You take care of Claire for me while I'm gone, ok? And…Uncle Leon." Holy shit. Even that fucking name sounded stupid.

The world made no sense.

Rebecca in love with him. Leon married to his sister. This kid in his arms calling him Daddy.

And no Jill. No Dog. No hope.

Fuck.

He needed the goddamn answers in Africa. He needed his fucking life back.

He needed Jill. If she came back and she wasn't her…if she didn't love him anymore. He could deal with that. He could. He could live in a world where she didn't love him anymore.

It was better than a world she didn't exist.

He'd had a glimpse of that world with Rebecca. She was a nice girl. She was sweet and charming and kind. She was a little…something. She was a little something sitting around waiting for him all these years. Sad? Shit. Who was he kidding?

He was sitting here waiting for the dead to come back to life. He was chasing ghosts in Africa.

What the hell did he know about anything?

He kissed Kit again and handed him to Rebecca. She turned to move away and Chris caught her face. He turned it up to him. And he said, "I feel like I should apologize."

"For what? I knew what I was risking. If you bring her back? She'll probably want to come kick my ass. I can't blame her. I would. I would kick anyone's ass that touched you…if you were mine. She has a right to that."

He shook his head, laughing a little. "Jill's not like that. She told me…before it was done…she said she didn't love me like that anymore. She said she was done."

Rebecca eyed him sadly. "Chris Redfield…you are so sweet. And so dumb. That's what we say when we're scared of getting hurt. She lied. We do that. I lied when I told you I was okay with being your friend. You lied when you told yourself maybe you could let her go. We lie. It's how we insulate ourselves."

She patted his wrist and stepped back. "No hard feelings here. Okay? Go find her. Let me take care of your life here. You? Go get the girl."

He wanted to apologize again. But what else could they say here? What was left?

So, he didn't. He just…left.

He'd hit the Savannah running. No stopping. He'd gotten off the plane in Johannesburg and started moving.

Irving, the son of a bitch, was making a fucking mess in the small shanty town. He'd dropped plagas like the Ganado outlined in the Kennedy report. It was a disaster.

Alpha team, sent in first, was wiped off the fucking map.

After an arduous few days, they'd finally reunited with Delta Team. It was led by Josh Stone – a handsome man with a fondness for the girl traveling companionably with her grouchy male counterpart. Chris wasn't the best company. Admittedly. Sheva was friendly and tried to be polite and encourage conversation. She fought like a tigress and was a badass with a knife.

It wasn't her fault that he was on a revenge mission stripped out of the seventh pit of hell. Not her fault at all. He wasn't known for his good humor on missions. He was painfully professional.

So, it surprised him when she said, "Thank you. It's refreshing to work with a man who isn't either trying to hit on me or save me like a white knight."

Chris glanced down at her on the ground beside him. They were sharing a bottle of water while Delta team rallied and went over the data secured from the dying DeChant from Alpha team.

"My partner from before…she would have cut my hands off if I tried to make her the damsel. I appreciate you not sticking your hands in my pants. My last partner that wasn't Jill? UTTER mess."

Sheva met his eyes, her dark ones twinkling. "I heard. And I shouldn't laugh. Really. But they spoke about you like you were…well…"

"Missing a dick?"

And they both laughed.

"Yes. And then to find out you'd been duped by your partner…and romantically linked. It was such a shock."

Chris nodded a little, shifting on the ground. "Turns out? Human."

"I see that." Sheva studied him. She liked him. He was friendly enough. He was inherently kind. He was abrasive but not rude. He helped when she asked and let her go when she wanted. As a partner? He was aces. There was something in him that drew her to want to help him.

What was it?

He was haunted or something.

It was in his eyes.

It was her parents that haunted her. So, she understood it.

Who haunted Chris Redfield?

Josh was crossing the sand toward them.

Chris rose. The handsome man in front of him was showing him a small device. It had data shooting across the tiny screen. It was one of those moments when Chris wished he had his glasses.

Josh handed him the tiny device. His accent was thick and attractive. He had a face that was complimented by a nearly uncompromising congeniality.

"This is what we found from DeChant. He was a friend?"

Chris shook his head, rubbing his sweaty neck. "No. I didn't know him personally. A good soldier though."

"He was. And he acquired more than we could have hoped for. We believe Irving has fled to the mining area. You'll continue on to there and we will catch up when we've finished here."

Sheva nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Thanks, Josh."

Chris separated over to scan through data. Sheva and Josh stood to one side talking quietly.

He flipped data and photos. Files and reams of information on subjects. All pale, all sleeping, all clearly contained in stasis. He heard Delta team clamoring into vehicles to head out.

And the next file popped on the little screen:

Test Subject JV-124: Female.

Approximate age: 34

Bloodtype: A

Antibodies: Positive

Current Status: Operational

He flipped the file.

The memory surged in and left him reeling.

"Just WAIT!"

"Jill…we're gonna be fucking late here. How long does it take to put on a damn wig?"

And she'd come from the bathroom in her Lord of the Rings costume. Galadriel. All blonde hair and beautiful white cloak. Ethereal. Her blue eyes HAUNTING in that face.

She'd posed, grinning. "Good?"

His heart. He laughed. "Aces, kid. Let's hit the bricks."

He nearly dropped the device. Because the picture staring up at him….was Jill.

Jill.

Jill with blonde hair.

Jill as Galadriel.

Jill Valentine.

Sheva said, quietly, "Chris?"

He had no words to respond to her question.

None.

Because all the answers were right there…on that tiny screen.

"Send her to kill them." Bored. He was so bored. He sounded so utterly uncaring.

Fergusson shifted where he stood, "Sir?"

"Send her now. Send her to kill Redfield and the girl. Now."

Fergusson shifted, scared, and lost. He wanted to help Jill. But you didn't say no to Wesker. You just didn't. Or you lost your tongue.

So, he whispered, "Yes sir."

Jill was standing in the long hallway. She didn't move. She was in her cloak, her mask, her steel boots. She was tall and deadly and dark.

She was NOT in the grips of the P30.

Fergusson lifted the device. He felt her watching him inside her mask.

He said, nervously, "Y-Y-You need to go rescue Irving. He's in danger in the quarry. You have orders to terminate Chris Redfield and his partner."

He shook the device. His finger slid over the button to inject her.

She waited….and nothing happened.

His finger slid over the button…and slid off without pressing it.

Jill said, the device on her mask queering her voice with a mechanical lilt, "Yes. It will be done."

She passed by him, heart hammering. He'd given her a chance. A choice. She could take this moment and reveal herself.

She could align herself with Chris and save him. She could finally reveal herself. She could kill Irving and be done with it.

If she did that, Wesker would know that Fergusson hadn't injected her. And he would have a little nerdy scientist killed. Her heart ached.

And for the first time…she wasn't ready to sacrifice everyone else for Chris Redfield.

She'd have to wait just a little longer.

Just a little longer.

She'd waited three years. What was a few more hours?

It felt like a lifetime.

Jill heard the shouting. She heard the gun go off. She shot her grapple gun up to the metal roof of the overseer's office. It latched, it whirred, and it sent her shooting up into the air.

She swung forward with a great flourish. The smoke grenade hit first, spilling the world into gray fog and confusion. Someone shouted. Someone laughed.

And Jill burst through the glass in a flurry of musical shattering and shrapnel. Shards split and shot out like darts, tinkling and striking where they flew. She landed with a spill of cloak.

Irving was taunting them, "Yous can't catch me! I TOLD YOU!"

Jill grabbed his laughing suit lapel and threw him toward the window. "Hurry!"

She wanted to kill him. It rolled in her BONES. She threw him toward the window. Irving grunted, laughing. "This isn't OVER!"

Idiot.

Through the smoke, she saw the girl go for a shot. Jill shot the couch beside her head and sent her ducking. And then?

Chris stood up.

He just stood up in the smoke like some kind of fool. Like Wyatt Earp in Tombstone crossing the damn river to kill Curly Bill. FOOL.

He took aim at her. She shook her head, panicking. But Irving got there first.

He shot Chris in the vest and spilled out the window backward laughing. Chris staggered but didn't go down. Jill kicked him. She kicked him clean in that massive vest.

She wondered if he felt it. He wasn't just big. He was ENORMOUS. The Human Tank? He was. He was doping. No getting around it. He was steel and muscle and stupid drugs. What drugs, Chris? What's your poison? His fucking arms had muscles piled on top of muscles. She want to grab one and feel it to see if it was as hard as it looked. He was pushing toward veiny. Toward bodybuilder big. He had to STOP.

She wanted to slap his face and scream at him. She wanted to slap his face and kiss him. She wanted to slap his face and hold him.

The crappy mess of her love for him. It was almost amusing.

The kick spilled him to his butt on the floor. Jill shot the couch again when the girl poked out, keeping her in cover.

And she said, in that mechanical voice, "Not here, not now. Stop fighting now. Stop fighting, you idiot."

He came at her again. She kicked him back, so hard. It rang up her leg. It sent him crashing into the desk. Muscles or not, he was being fucking stupid here. Brave? No. He was acting like an idiot. Rushing at danger without thinking. It was a rookie move.

He KNEW better. What was this? Side effects of the damn roids he was hopping on? Had it turned his brains to mush and his muscles to iron?

Jill moved to the window. He started to get up again. She aimed her gun at him. "Stay down. Stay down and wait."

He eyed her from the floor. He stayed there in the fog.

"Who are you?!"

She shook her head.

"Irving is a fool. His time is limited. Stop pushing so hard. Pace yourself. Redfield – come find me…in the Monarch Room."

She leaped out the window and left him in the fog.

His world was lost in that damn gray air. His eyes had seen the mechanical woman from the forest. The one who'd left him alive. The one who'd kept shouting STOP FIGHTING.

Who was the woman?

And why did the hair on the back of his neck stand up when she was near?

The rain came. It was wet and brutal. It ate across the savannah like an angry wolf. It leveled trees and threw wind in a swirling, howling, slapping maelstrom.

Sheva was a trooper. She never gave up. She just kept going.

They were outnumbered, outgunned, outmaneuvered. Someone was playing them, pushing them, pulling them like puppets. He knew it. He knew someone was leading him.

Hadn't Irving's partner all but said that?

Irving.

He saw Dog every time he looked at Irving. Dog and Jill's face the first time she'd seen him.

You got me a dog?

Yep.

Do I want a dog?

You do. You've been so sad. Dog is a good dude. He's a goof.

You're a goof.

He was going to enjoy splattering Irving all over hell and back. It was going to feel like nirvana.

They were sweaty and stinky and tired. They were lost and scared and pushing on. Sheva kept collecting dog tags…like Jill had done. Like Jill in the Spencer Mansion. Jill and her dog tags. Sheva and her fallen brothers.

She picked up a pair off the dead soldier who'd tried so hard to drive them out of the path of the monster they'd just turned into piss and rotting parasite. Sheva closed his eyes and rose, holding the tinkling metal disks.

Chris, in sympathy, said quietly into the rain, "You can throw in the towel here, Shev. You can turn back."

Her angry countenance lifted to his. She observed his face in the rain. What was she looking for on him? His truth, most likely. Which was what? What was his truth?

She spoke, low and with an undercurrent of desperation, "Chris...look around you. Look. What are we doing here? We should both get the hell out of this nightmare. We're so fucked here. We're only two damn people. Two. What chance do we have? We need to fall back and regroup."

How to explain his truth to this girl? How to explain it in a way that didn't sound half insane or miserable or stupid? Was there any way to explain Jill Valentine to someone who didn't love her?

"I can't. There's no turning back for me. I have a personal stake here. Orders or not? I'm going on."

And there it was. She was looking at him like he'd lost his mind. Maybe he had. He probably had, so long ago. But for the first time in so long?

He felt like himself again.

Under the insanity, there was hope. It felt painful and raw in his chest. It peppered the plains of his loss with pockets of nearly painful anticipation. She was here. HERE. He could FEEL her.

It was mystical crappola. It was his father and his "people." It was the Great Spirit and the "hoowee" that had never made sense. It was the wind in Raccoon City and the locket around his neck. It was the smell of her, the taste of her, the look on her face when she first saw Dog. The first time she hugged him and the second she finally said, "I love you." It was waking up beside her and feeling like he could take on the world. It was falling asleep inside her and feeling like he HAD the world, right there, RIGHT THERE - in his fucking hands.

"A personal stake, Chris? What does that even mean?"

"It means...awhile ago I got some intel that my old partner might still be alive. What we saw on DeChant's intel confirmed it. Jill's alive, Sheva. She's alive. And she's waiting for me to find her. I won't leave here without her."

"The woman on the file? The blonde? How in the hell can you be sure it's even her? How long has she been missing?"

"Three years. I know what it sounds like. But it doesn't matter if you believe me. Don't you get it? I don't care. I've got nothing left to lose...but her. So, this ends in one of two ways: Me with her or me in a body bag. That's all I know."

He was already walking as he talked. She shouted, "Damnit, Chris! Wait!"

Sheva hurried after him as he moved toward the little swamp skimmer that waited for them. He was messing with the ripcord to get it ready to hit the water. She grabbed his arm, it took both hands for her to even attempt it, and spun him back to face her.

"You think I'll let you go alone?"

He studied her face in the moonlight. The rain made her eyes almost gold. Pretty.

And looking at him like he had a dick growing out of his forehead.

It's ok. He was used to it. People had been looking at him like that for years.

"Why not? A second ago you were ready to cut and run."

"I took this damn job to avenge my parents. They were killed in an accident caused by Umbrella. I watched them turn into something...else. I was so small. Josh helped raise me. We grew up together. And he's out there somewhere. I can't raise him. I can't find him. But I won't stop until I do. So, tell me – and stop giving me the party line. What's happening here?"

She let go of his arm and waited. Thunder grumbled with a grumpy sound in the long horizon. Finally, he spoke, "You wanna know about Jill?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Get on." He turned and slid into the driver's seat of the skimmer. He fired up the engine and the fan kicked on, throwing fetid air. Sheva took a spot at his feet like a child at story time. And Chris sent the skimmer racing across the filthy swamp.

The damp stench of stagnant water and mold spilled around them like a noxious perfume as he spoke. He was succinct. He was efficient. He told the story like he was giving a briefing.

He left out the shit that didn't matter – that Jill was his soulmate. That he was half dead inside. That the conspiracy that spun around them was thicker than the swamp that passed beneath the little boat.

Sheva looked up at his face, "You were close?"

"….we were partners."

She held his steely gaze. He could feel the muscle in his jaw pulsing. He was uptight. He knew he was being uptight. He didn't need her deadpan expression to also tell him she wasn't stupid.

"Loyalty like that is commendable."

"Thank you. I'm running outta time here, Sheva. She needs me. And I need to find her. Now. Yesterday. It's ok if you want to back out. I won't hold it against you."

"No. We're pah'tners now, Chris. We are. Help me find, Josh. I will help you find Jill. We will finish this...and make a stand for our fallen brothers." Her voice was soft, encouraging. She was determined.

Chris nodded a little and relaxed. Ok. OK. It was time to start trusting this girl.

She wasn't Jessica.

She wasn't.

She was loyal. She was determined. She was sticking with him.

It was well past time to reward that with honesty and trust. TRUST – fuck. The hardest word he knew. It rankled to say it in his head. It hurt, physically, to utter it. TRUST.

Shit.

Chris queried, gently, "You joined the BSAA to avenge your parents."

"I did. Africa...it was nothing but a test bed for biological weapons. It was awful. And someone has to pay for all the people who died for nothing. Somebody has to pay. There's only so much one person can do on their own, ya know? Even a legend like, Chris Redfield."

He laughed mirthlessly. He shook his head. "No legend. No superhero. Just a guy trying to right a wrong that should have been taken care of a decade ago. That's it."

"Maybe. Or maybe that's WHY you're a legend. Humility. I like you humble. It suits you."

They smiled gently at each other. The dawn peeked over the horizon, offering a red smear on the black sky beneath the rainy lumps of dirty gray clouds. A pretty panorama of color to the naked eye, it invited you keep on watching – to see the moment the world went gold and bright again.

Chris broke the silence after a long moment of slicing through the murky water. What was wrong with one more pep talk, huh? Maybe it would help them both get ready.

"Help me, Sheva. Help me. And we can end this."

"Yes. We will set it right, Chris. I promise you."

For the first time in so long, he watched the sun slide into the sultry swampland sky...and he believed.

Hold on, Jill, hold on...I'm comin for ya.  
..........

Post note:

Dying to see her again

Brad Paisley

Imagine her  
Standing there  
Young again  
Long brown hair  
As he crosses over  
To the other side  
She smiles at him  
He runs to her  
With arms open wide

She was his reason for living  
She was his rock and his best friend  
They'll be reunited in Heaven  
'Cause he's dying to see her again

He went down hill  
Once she was gone  
Lost the will, to carry on  
They couldn't find nothing wrong  
No matter what they did  
But I know the answers in the picture frame that's sitting by his desk

She was his reason for living  
She was his rock and his best friend  
They'll be reunited in Heaven  
'Cause he's dying to see her again

As the doctors come running  
I overhear a nurse say "we're losin' him"  
We've been losing him since he lost her

She was his reason for living  
She was his rock and his best friend  
They'll be reunited in Heaven  
'Cause he's dying to see her again


	32. Chapter 32

….

A/N:

I don't know  
If you believe in Heaven  
I don't know  
If you believe in Hell  
But I bet we can agree that the devil  
Is alive and well  
Alive and well

-The Devil is Alive and Well

Slainte.

….

XXXII: Mine

:::::::::::::Thirty-Two::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 – Off the Coast of Kijuju – 7:06 p.m.

"Youse nuthin but one of Excella's PLAYTHINGS!"

Her hand closed around his throat. She lifted him, effortlessly, feet dangling while he squirmed and kicked and squealed. She slapped him into the side of the ship so hard – it echoed.

"I repeat," Jill spoke tonelessly. The mask didn't allow for inflection. It was all robotic and stilted, "WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ABOUT THEM?"

"Why don't you do it?!"

She slapped him into the wall again while he grunted and spit. "ANSWER ME!"

"Alright alright! I'll take care of it. I'll fucking handle it! GEEZUS! It was your master who -"

Jill slung him to the floor while he squeaked and hissed. Irving. Coward. The rat-faced grunt. He was trying to run and take his money with him. Wesker was having none of that. You didn't betray Albert Wesker and live. Didn't he know that?

Jill put the sample down to him. It was the cheap whiskey option. It was the watered down version. It was the BEST she could do. She knew Chris could handle it. She knew it. "Use it."

"W-What?!"

"USE IT. You've been warned."

She moved toward her waiting ride.

"Youse can't just leave me alone here!"

"You'll be fine. Continue on to the lab. I'm needed elsewhere." Jill felt Irving grab for her cloak with his desperate hands. She wanted to shove them up his ass. She wanted to kick him in the dick while he screamed and vomited up his own testicles.

"B-But they're RIGHT THERE!"

Jill turned her masked face.

He wasn't wrong.

From down the pier, Chris and his partner were running. They were racing toward the yacht where Irving and Jill stood in the dying sun.

Would she ever get over the sight of him?

The boy with the bad haircut had become the machine with the big muscles. Where was the boy she'd loved?

She yearned.

Chris stopped and aimed.

Jill knew, even at this damn distance, he wouldn't miss.

She shoved Irving toward the foredeck. "Move, idiot. Get this stupid canoe on its way. Unless you want that BSAA Agent and his partner to send you to meet your maker."

"You kidding!? He's a big fat meathead. LOOK at him. He's so stupid. He can't CATCH ME!" And Irving bellowed, "SPLENDID TIMING! Youse two are just in time for the fireworks show...BOOM!"

Jill slapped him. She slapped Irving across the face. Oh GOD, it felt so good. It made her breath come in pants, it made her NIPPLES hard to smack the fuck out of someone she hated so much. She could barely control the urge to slap him down until he cried or died or shit his pants.

"IDIOT! You taunt them? That is CHRIS REDFIELD! You know who he is. You've HEARD. He is a thousand times the man you are. You are a grunt. A troll. Nothing. Do not be over confident."

His arrogant face made her laugh, loudly, "Still believe you are better?""

"Then a DOUCHEBAG!? YEAH!"

"I'll leave you to your fate then."

Jill ran toward the speedboat awaiting her adjacent to the yacht. She vaulted the railing and landed in the crafty little water horse. It rocked, waiting for her to pull the throttle and send it zipping through the chilly waves.

She grabbed for the handle ...and paused.

The entire dock began to erupt in gushes of flame and exploded oil and gasoline drums. Bursting, blazing heat and smoke burped and plumed into the waiting African breeze. The stench of gunpowder and lead filled the nostrils and left the taste on the tongue like a coating of grease and vomit.

Chris and his partner scrambled. They were trapped. The fire raced toward them. Irving's yacht took off into the waiting water. Jill started to follow it...and froze.

The fire ate down the dock, dissolving wood and tossing metal with firey fingers into the coming night. The girl with Chris was screaming. She was trying to get him to jump in the water. There was no other choice.

Jill hit the throttle on the speedboat. It zipped over the tossing waves and bumped its fiberglass side into the base of the dock where they stood, "GET ON!"

The girl hesitated. Chris grabbed her and threw her down. She hit the boat, he landed after her, and Jill hit the gas. It sprang away from the exploding dock SECONDS before it was consumed in utter destruction. The scent of it chased them across the open water.

The speedboat zipped through the foamy sea, evicting droplets of salty spray into the sky to pepper their faces as they ran for it. Halfway to the retreating yacht, Chris finally spoke.

"I'll ask you one last time: who the fuck are you?"

Another boat was racing at them, driven by a handsome man in a BSAA African Branch Uniform. He rolled up beside their boat. His eyes were huge with shock.

Sheva jumped into the boat with him. "Chris! We don't have time! We have to stop Irving NOW!"

Jill answered, softly, "You know who I am. You've always known. Go! Stop, Irving. Find the answers. Look for the flower that opens in the sun. Look to the man who can't stand in it...without glasses."

Chris shook his head. He didn't understand this person helping them. What was the point here? Were they good? Were they bad? Why help them and try to kill them at the same time?

He moved to jump into the other boat...and she grabbed him.

She had to touch him, just once, just a little. Had to.

Her hands slid over his arm...and it was as hard as it looked. It thrilled her into her belly and down into her groin. His shoulders were so broad, his chest was...she sighed with it. She turned him back to her. The confusion on his face, she pitied him. She did. But the time wasn't yet. Not yet.

A little longer, Chris, a little longer. Keep going. We're almost there. I'm HERE.

Her hands curled into his shirt. He'd lost the vest somewhere. Just skin tight moisture wicking underarmor now. And him. Just him...beneath this fucking shirt.

Just him...and her. Her locket. Her medal she'd given him.

He wore them both...together...over his fucking heart.

And he had her, just like that. He had her.

I'd rather live two minutes in this world with him...then a lifetime in yours with you.

It was what Albert Wesker would never have, never understand, never surmise. It was why he was weak and limited and broken. Not a god, a joke...the punchline of a bad one liner. He would never understand.

I put her next to you, and you offered me your weakness.

No.

He put them together, and made them stronger. Two broken souls looking for something...they'd found it, in each other. The other piece of what was missing. They were only whole together.

Only together.

And he was RIGHT HERE. She had to touch him. It was all she knew.

She shoved up the mask to her nose. She jerked him down. She kissed his mouth, so, so, so soft.

It put the seal on something that had been leaking. It closed some door left too long open. It put the punctuation mark at the end of an incomplete sentence.

One word. What was it?

Oh, yeah...MINE.

Her hand slid over the medal and the locket...and pressed.

With a sound of pain, she pushed him away. Mechanically, she said, "Irving will try to head West. He is in possession of a very important sample. Destroy him."

He tried to grab for her arm. She wanted, so badly, to fall into him and cling. Instead? She grabbed his hand. She speared their fingers together. And she spoke, succinctly and impassioned, "Find me – in the Monarch Room...Chris Redfield. FIND ME."

She pushed him into the other boat. He stumbled and went to his butt while Sheva helped him back up. Jill hit the gas and the speed boat roared off, leaving them dumbfounded and watching her flee.

She put her hand to her mouth under the mask. She rubbed it there.

And yearned.

The taste of him still filled her with something like joy. What was it? The limbic system? Happiness breaks the spell. Stupid. So stupid. So storybook and stupid.

But wasn't the idea of soulmates stupid?

Wasn't love at first sight? Fate? All that stuff Chris was always spouting. Spirits and powers and mystical crap. Zombies and viruses and bad guys who CAME BACK FROM THE DEAD. Wasn't it all storybook? How could any of it be real?

She turned her head over her shoulder. The hood blew back and tossed her blonde hair in the breeze. How could any of it be REAL!?

He stood on the neighboring boat – one knee cocked on the edge and a hand to his mouth where she'd kissed him. Mirrors of each other as she fled, she knew THAT was real. That was real. She didn't know if it was storybook or stupid or simply a chemical reaction in the limbic system of her brain telling her what she knew the second he stumbled into that police station and changed her life:

He was hers. Twin souls. Somehow, it was true. He was the other part of her, the best part, the only part left unbroken. She needed him.

And now she had to fight the devil to free them both.

Josh was quiet as the small boat raced into the stagnant swamp.

Chris could feel Sheva watching him, expectantly, determinedly.

He didn't know what to say to her. He didn't know what to say at all.

You know who I am.

His heart said that was true. It had always been true.

But his mind? It said: how could she work for the enemy? Because she was. If it was her. If it was…it meant she was working with Wesker. It meant she was working for the bad guys.

Why?!

Was it blackmail? Was it survival? The experimental data he'd skimmed said she'd been resuscitated and reanimated. Which meant…she'd died. She'd died going out that window to save him. He'd killed her after all.

And all the love in the world couldn't change that.

His logic said: You don't know that it's her. You're speculating. You're HOPING. Confirm it. Like any other intel, confirm it first. Don't jump to conclusions.

His hand slid against his mouth.

"Oh, my HAIRY ASS! You CHEATED!"

And she leaped into his arms while he laughed. He was so busy guffawing that he barely caught her. He stumbled into the wall and leaned, gasping for air.

She had knocked all the cards around during her assault. She gripped his ears in her hands and tugged, drawing a yelp from him. "CONFESS!"

Rolling with it, he heaved out a sound that resembled a very MASCULINE giggle. "I cheated."

She gasped dramatically. "Chris Redfield! You should be ashamed! A hero indeed! A liar! A cheater! Fake! I will tell the world! I will reveal your secrets! I will expose you for a fraud! I will –"

And he kissed her.

No plummeting thing – just soft and tender. Maybe the first real kiss they'd ever had like it. And the first one that seared like something dangerous between them.

Chris jerked back the slide on his pistol. It echoed in the humid air. Maybe he didn't have confirmation. Maybe he didn't have a ream of papers saying it was true.

But that was HER. He'd stake his fucking life on it.

Find me in the Monarch Room…Chris Redfield.

Quietly, he avowed, "I'm coming. Hang on. I'm almost there."

Sheva shouted and startled him. He turned and couldn't get out of the way, not entirely. The flaming arrow thunked. It hit him broadside. It hurt like..well..like fire.

Sheva jerked it clean so fast it barely had time to register.

And Chris returned fire over the top of her pretty head.

Josh shouted, "They're protecting Irving! We need to put distance between us and them!"

"You worry about keeping this bastard flying and let us pick them off."

Josh snorted, "No one is that good!"

"Clearly, we haven't met. Chris Redfield – nice to meetcha."

Josh glanced at Sheva, amused. She held his gaze and shrugged. Impressed, Josh said, "You're serious?"

"He's the best shot I've ever seen."

"Good. Keep them off us. I'm going to broadside the ship and the two of you be ready to assault it."

The boat zipped. The boat zagged. It sped left and spilled right in the choppy water. Sheva tumbled and tried to find her footing. Chris?

He parked it on the lumpy tail end and kept picking them off.

The first flaming arrow that came at his face, he rolled his neck right and it zinged off into the swamp behind him. Josh glanced at Sheva again who pursed her lips and chuckled.

She moved up next to him and covered him by shooting the ones in the neighboring boats that she could get a bead on. From the corner of her mouth, she mused, "Not a legend, you say?"

"No. Just a guy with a gun and no life. No legend. More of a joke really. Or a bad punch line."

"Mmm. Keep up the humility, Redfield. It suits you."

Josh shouted, "Get ready! We're going to hit!"

He swung the little boat right; it skidded on its fiberglass shell and smacked hard into the starboard side of the yacht. Sheva went first, gripping the dangling emergency ladder. Chris covered them while she climbed. Josh laughed and took up the fight with him.

Josh? A helluva shot. He picked them off clean and fast.

Chris grinned a little, "Who trained you?"

"Who else? Me."

"Same."

"Take care of my girl. It's a relief to know she's being guarded by a legend."

"No legend. Just a man with a gun." He grabbed the ladder. Josh eyed him. And Chris answered the concern on his face, "I'll guard her with my life. I'll protect your girl, you help me find mine."

"Deal."

Chris mounted the ladder and Josh ran to take the helm of the ship.

At the top of the yacht, Sheva was holding Irving at gunpoint.

The ugly little pest of a man looked more like a ferret than a person. He was in some kind of wrinkled white suit stained with blood and black soot. His receding hairline spilled above a sallow face with a beak of a nose and stingy lips. He was sweaty and scared – it pretty much spilled around him like a fart.

Irving called to them, from the top of the Captain's perch, "You couldn't just let me run huh!? Youse two had to make me KILL YA!"

Chris laughed, holding his gun on that ugly face, "You pathetic turd! You think I'd EVER let you run? You killed my fucking DOG! I'm gonna enjoy watching you bleed out and scream."

Sheva had never heard someone so mad in her life about a dog. What a loyal man, she mused, to follow the shadow of a girl for three years and seek revenge for a pet. She was honored to stand with him. And she would reward that kind of dedication with nothing but the same.

Irving called back, "So you're CHRIS! I've heard so much aboutcha. I'd say sorry about yer mutt…but I really don't give a shit. Yous both are screwed anyway! SCREWED!"

Chris threw down the hammer on the pistol. "You son of a BITCH. How do you know who I am!?"

"You kidding!? I've heard your name for YEARS. I feel like we've already met!"

"Sorry, I can't say the same. I don't generally associate with pathetic butt boys. You like being Wesker's fuck toy? Hopefully, he at least gives you a reach around when he's cornholing you."

That worked. Irving was pissed now. He stomped down the stairs toward them. "You stupid JOCK. You think I'm just some parasite!? I'll show you what I can do. And then maybe I'll make you MY fuck toy."

Chris felt his teeth flash in a wolfish grin. "Big talk for a tiny turd. You heard about me? I don't die. So that means only one of us leaves this ship alive. But what the hell right? Give it your best shot…buttboy."

In hindsight, it may not have been the best idea to taunt the guy with the virus in his hand. A series of things subsequently happened very quickly after that. Irving stuck in his neck, Sheva shouted, Chris shot him in the face …and Irving went over the side of the ship screaming.

It was very…anticlimactic.

It felt unfinished.

Sheva looked at him. Chris sighed. Sometimes, it seemed, there was no hope for an epic bat—

The loch ness monster exploded out of the water. It sheared the surface like a leviathan. And four ENORMOUS tentacles smashed down with the fury of an angry buttboy. Sheva shoved him, Chris went to his butt on the deck, and the first one slapped loud and crunching between them.

Horrified, they both scrambled.

The face of the leviathan rose above the tossing ship. It split like a flower in the sun and showed a tiny pod inside the dripping, stinking, slimy depths. A pod – with Ricardo Irving's face.

"Who's fucked now…CHRIS!? I'm gonna make you the star of my HENTAI! Ever seen tentacle porn!? YOUSE TWO ARE ABOUT TO LIVE IT!"

Lord.

Was there ever an exchange with a bad guy that wasn't stilted, painful, and comic book villain bad?

Seemingly no.

Irving chortled, resembling a cocoon that was half erupted, bulbous pods of burping lumps and bumps encircled him. He dangled inside the mouth of the creature attached to him like the uvula in the back of a throat. And the tentacles just started raining down in furious strikes of muscle against metal.

They could do little but scramble and roll.

Irving was loving it. He was laughing and dangle dancing on his weird spill of tendon that bound him to the massive head of his supportive leviathan. One tentacle smashed into Sheva and threw her into the air like a fly swatter.

Chris shouted in rage and ran for her but she was already lost in the water.

Another tentacle slapped him almost playfully and sent him rolling and skidding over the slimy deck. He smashed into the edge of the deck and went to his face on the filthy ground.

Irving hooted into the air. "Yeah! Who's fucked now!?"

Chris suspected there was a tentacle getting ready to spear him like a screaming fluffer in a porno. He rolled to his back, brought his gun up to stop it, and there was the echo of gunfire in the rapidly darkening sky.

The bullet hit Irving's laughing face and cut off that evil chortling mid-giggle. He squealed instead and his monster closed the shell of its face around his huddling, bleeding, crying countenance. It dove into the water and took its tentacles with it.

For a brief, brief, brief moment there was peace again on the ship. Chris gasped, groaned, and heaved to his feet. He felt every hit, every wound, every ache and knew he was going to be bruised to hell and back when this was done. Disconnecting it, channeling it into rage and drive, he raced for the edge of the boat.

Sheva was climbing up to join him.

Impressed, he grabbed her arms to lift her up.

"…how!?"

And there at the base of the ladder was the little boat…and the mechanical woman.

In that lilting robot's voice, she said, "Get him to reveal himself. How do you stop a zombie?"

"How do you stop a zombie?"

"…shoot them in the head."

"Jill!?"

There was no answer.

But she tossed a gun up to him. Semi-automatic and glossy, the sniper rifle fit his hands like they'd been made for each other. Why didn't she just come up here and help them!?

The boat zipped off, fast and furious. And there was no time to feel it. There was no time to hope it. There was no time to want it.

There was only time to KILL RICARDO IRVING.

The ship rocked, it was tossed sideways and hit the water in a geyser of water. Stagnant waves spilled over the deck, the ship tried to capsize with the force of it, and Irving's monster erupted from the marsh again – laughing.

How do you stop a zombie?

Chris hefted the rifle to his shoulder. "Cover me, Sheva. Aim for the head."

"Got it…pah'tner."

Cheese and rice.

He adjusted the scope – and got ready to shoot that ferrety bastard right between his fucking eyes.

On the far side of the swamp, Jill brought her boat even with Josh Stone. She eyed him. He seemed to consider drawing his weapon.

She lifted a hand to him. "Forget that. And listen to me…there is a mountain range on the other side of the oil fields. You'll find a fully stocked Chinook there waiting for a pilot. If you move through the docks and follow the eastern path, it's half a days run from the oil field. I need you to get there. And I need you to get it ready. When you reach it, take it airborne and head for the shipyard. STAY ABOVE THE EYELINE. There are anti-aircraft guns all over those shipyards. You hear me?"

"Why are you helping us?'

Jill held his eyes in her mask. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I owe a debt. Can you do it?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Good. Hurry. There's no time…" Her boat zipped off. She felt the rush of her blood to her heart. She was on borrowed time. Wesker was going to figure out what she was doing.

If he didn't know already.

If he didn't KNOW already.

She needed Chris safe. She needed him protected. Once Wesker hit her with the P30, she was done for. She needed him insulated against that. She didn't think she'd ever survive it if Wesker commanded her to kill him.

She'd barely survived the last assault Wesker had sent her on.

She'd cleared the village of Mauti-Kifo like some kind of demon. She'd set fire to huts and snapped necks. Inside the cage of her flesh, she'd screamed – uselessly and endlessly – while her hands had wrought destruction and devastation. An angel of darkness, she'd served his dark will without question.

If you won't serve me out of devotion, Jill, you will serve me in spite of it.

He hadn't come to her bed since that night. The power play had worked. He knew, she knew, who held all the cards here. But he was underestimating her. He thought she was beaten. He thought she was cowed.

He was wrong.

Her power didn't come from her. It never had.

It came from Chris Redfield.

And he was HERE.

She would make sure he was safe. She would take Wesker with her. She would send Chris back to his son to LIVE.

She just had to outsmart the smartest man alive to do it.

It might have been funny – if it wasn't so terrifying it made her want to pee her pants.

So, maybe there was no outsmarting Albert Wesker. But there was outmaneuvering him. She didn't need him to be thwarted, just caught off guard. If she could get Excella's case…she could shoot him full of that shit he was always taking.

Logically, Fergusson had mused, it should work like pulling the plug on him. He needed a precise dosage. Too much was the same as too little. It was their only chance here.

She needed Chris safe.

She needed Wesker DEAD.

And she was out of time.

They stood over the rapidly disintegrating body of Ricardo Irving. He was a bubbling, bumbling, bad Bronx accent using mess on the deck of his ugly yacht. He'd shot himself up with whatever syringe of crap the masked woman had given him when she'd fled.

Chris tried to find pity in him for the thing that writhed on the deck.

It had turned him into a monster. A loch ness monster looking to destroy them. Spines and scales and screaming pain. It had raced around the yacht and tried to capsize it. It threw acid, it had tentacles as long as the yacht that it tried to smash them to death with. It was the first real sign of something horrible at work here. Plagas be damned.

Somebody was messing with that fucking Uroboros they'd read about.

Rumors of a Doomsday Project.

No more rumors.

It was HERE.

Chris stood above him, looking down into the sizzling slop that he was becoming.

Irving laughed, wet and bubbling, "Don't youse get it yet? You can kill me. It don't mattuh! It never has! HE will see you destroyed! Damn that Excella…guess I wasn't good enough for the prime shit…"

Sheva breathed, "Excella?!"

Chris sneered, "Where is this lab!?" And he was showing Irving the tiny picture of Jill in stasis.

Irving laughed. "The answers you want? They're in that fucking cave over there. Maybe. Or maybe they're not. Chris…god….I hated you on principle. The way HE talks about you…god…buttboy? You will be…you will be.."

Sheva shouted, "Don't you dare die! What is the Uroboros project!?"

"The answer to the question of the world, lady. The answer. Chris…you douchebag…I bet your dog died hating you too…fuck…"

Chris went to put him down and Sheva grabbed his arm. "Look…"

Irving suffered. He screamed. His body cavorted and contorted and flopped. Mercy said to shoot him. But they both stood there while he melted into the deck in a bleeding, bubbling, stinking tableau of pain and infection.

The wind kicked up, siphoning the scent of swamp and mold and blending it with the rotten promise of death. He watched until it was over, and the last gasping breath had fled from the corpse that continued to sizzle like bacon on a skillet beneath him. Chris finally glanced at Sheva in the twilight.

She touched his forearm and smiled, gently. "What now?"

"Now? Now we keep going."

The boat driven by Josh rolled up beside their savaged vessel. Sheva hurried to climb down to it. Chris remained where he was, staring down at the mess that had helped shape the course of his life. It wasn't enough. In that moment, watching the thing that had been Irving melt into a puddle of piss and regret, it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

So, he lifted his gun and shot the steaming mess between the eyes – twice.

And it would have to be enough. Sometimes, you took what you could get.

Sheva called his name and he backed up once, twice, and finally turned to hurry toward the boat.

But he wanted to stand there, and watch Irving fade away. He wanted to stand there and watch his world right itself. Dog was gone. It was over. The revenge was cold.

Like he was.

What if there was nothing waiting for him with Wesker's death? Would it change a goddamn thing? Would it right the wrongs or bring back those they'd lost? Would it do anything at all to make him any less numb?

Sometimes he wondered if it was all worth fighting for.

The boat rolled under the overhang of the cave. The dewy stone whispered the promise of redemption from within the murky darkness. It settled around them like a cool blanket stifling the slap of summer with a breath of fresh air. Somehow the dank cave felt better and cleaner than the filthy bayou they'd left behind.

Sheva called, excitedly, "Look! It's the woman's boat!"

They rolled to the dock beside it and alighted. Chris gave her a hand up.

Josh remained in the boat, looking contemplative. He mused, "You're going on? Are you sure?"

Sheva gave him exasperated eyes. "Are you kidding? It's not just about Jill. It's about Uroboros now too. We have to stop it."

Josh sighed a little and nodded, glancing at Chris. "I'm going to get in touch with HQ. I'm going to try to get the evacuation order rescinded. There's an escape plan in place I'm going to go see about as well. If I can, I will get back up for you."

Chris nodded, holding that level look with his own. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Be careful. And wait to hear from me."

The boat cornered, it sprayed water in an arc as it spun back, and Josh took off into the setting sun from the mouth of the cavern.

Sheva glanced up at his face. Chris patted her shoulder a little. "Thanks for sticking with me, kid. Honestly, I'm surprised. This is probably a wild goose chase we're on here."

"Maybe. But maybe not."

They picked their way through the chilly cavern. Sheva shivered a little and laughed. "Drastic temperature change, ya know?"

"You're not kidding there."

"Chris?"

"Hmm?" They were easing down the long incline deeper into the cave. It was rocky and jagged, craggy and crooked. It was dangerous and slick. He kept one of her hands in his like a gentleman and helped her pick their way down.

"Is it her?"

She leaped a little at the bottom and he caught her to set her beside him.

They held eyes for a moment. Finally, Chris shrugged a little. "Maybe. But maybe not."

With a little chuckle of amusement, Sheva followed him toward the large stone doors that waited for them. "If it isn't?"

"She's still here somewhere. I'm going to find her. It's that simple. If Wesker is behind it? I'm not leaving until he's dead. If that means I have to tackle him out a window into a fucking volcano, I'll do it."

Sheva laughed a little. "Because we're so often IN a volcano…I was there last week in fact. The open air markets are really the best when punctuated by the stench of sulfur and boiling MAGMA."

"Why not right? Tentacle monsters and big giant fatties trying to crush us. Bugs that attack the size of dogs. The mother fucker survived being gutted, mutating, being dropped out a fucking twenty story window…at some point you have to wonder what it's gonna take to finish it. Save for an RPG stuffed up his ass, I don't really see how I'm going to kill him."

Sheva paused, watching his face. He tilted his head, looking back at her.

"What?"

"If you have no idea how to fight him, why are you rushing so hard toward it?"

"Because I can't leave him alive. I can't. If I don't stop him here, now, he's going to drop that shit all over the globe. He's going to win. I will die before I let that happen. He's been stuffing his hand up my ass like a puppet since the moment I met him. That ends now. In fire, in blood, with both of us dead. It doesn't matter which. It's me versus Voldemort. Why not? Neither can live while the other survives."

Sheva shot her gaze back and forth over his face. There must have been something on it because she intoned, softly, "You mean that. You came here to die."

He considered the truth of that. It rolled in his head and brought up a reasonable amount of exclamation points. She wasn't ENTIRELY wrong. It wasn't a death wish – not exactly. It was more like…acceptance. He was OK with dying. And honestly? He didn't see any way around it.

"Sheva…he's not human. He's not even REMOTELY human. I can't fight him one on one and win. It's impossible. I will die trying. It's all I can give. I have to hope we find something, anything to equalize the playing field here. If not? It's me doing everything I can to cripple him and hoping to GOD someone stops him before he lets Uroboros loose."

Shaking her head, she breathed, "I don't understand that. You came here knowing you couldn't win. Why come at all? What are you fighting for?"

Chris shifted, holding her look, but it hurt a little. "Jill."

She blinked. She waited.

There was no further explanation.

That was it.

"A long time ago, Jill made a bargain with him. She offered herself up to spare me. I didn't understand it at the time. The price? It might have been so many other lives. We couldn't prove that, we never knew for sure, but we always speculated. I…" He rolled his neck, looking out over the long dark cavern, "I fucked up. I said things. I recoiled. I ran. But I didn't understand, not really, what she was offering. She sold herself to free me. Or tried to…"

He rubbed his face, roughly now. "I think she's here. I think that woman is her. Which means she jumped out the window to save me, again. And she is with him, here, fighting beside him. Why? What could he possibly want with her? Why hasn't she run?"

Sheva answered the question, so gently, "She's protecting you."

"Yeah. YEAH. She's still fucking protecting me." Oh god, it hurt so bad to say it out loud. It felt like ache and yearn and burn in his fucking nuts. "She's saddled herself to a psycho for three fucking years to protect me. And maybe the world. Maybe. But I doubt it. That's secondary. It's me. It's always me."

Sheva laid a gentle touch on his shoulder. Appreciating the show of support, he lifted his hand and patted hers. "I won't abandon her. I've spent years searching for her. I won't leave her behind. I can't…there's…there's no way I can make it up to her. I can't get her to forgive me or atone for how fucking stupid I am. I can't. But I can do this. I can fight him. I can take him with me and FREE HER. Just once. Just this one time. I can set her free. Maybe."

Sheva spoke with just a hint of reverence, "She's the reason you're a legend."

He turned his eyes to her face, "What?"

"She's the reason. You've torn the world apart to find her. You've gone into every hot zone, every infected disaster, every outbreak…you've been trying to what? Avenge her? You and Leon Kennedy. It's spoken about with reverence or disbelief. They say you fought fifty zombies with your fists once. And Kennedy? He killed twenty five lickers with a broken piece of glass."

Fucking Kennedy. Always getting the better deal. Even the fake ones.

It made him laugh with derision. "Some of that is true. I fought eight zombies once my fists. I wasn't alone. And it wasn't easy. Kennedy? He fought lickers with a broken piece of glass. That happened. TWO. Not twenty five. And I took care of the second one."

"...with your fists?"

Uncomfortable, he shifted. Her eyes shined at him in the semi-darkness. "Ok...again...long story but yes. I shot it first, it knocked my gun away. I kicked it...and punched it in the brain."

Her mouth twitched. She snorted a little.

So, she was kinda great. He saw what she was doing here.

"And you were doing all this, for what? To honor Jill?"

He shifted and finally said it out loud, "I've been trying to earn her back. Stupid right? Stupid. To fight so hard, so fast, to push and pull and punish. For a girl who didn't even know. Like I'd wake up one morning and she'd just…be right there – watching me. She'd say…I respect you. I love you. I forgive you. Hah. Oy. Sorry."

Sheva shook her head. She patted the inside of his left arm. The tattoo there was small, it was at the bend of his elbow where it met the forearm, it was the BSAA emblem. But it wasn't the name of his company written in the globe. It wasn't.

It was Jill.

In her handwriting. He'd had it copied from the last letter she'd written him. Her name - in the center of his world.

Sheva said, "Don't you see, Chris? There's no reason to keep pushing for her love. She's on you. She's in your face. She's your world. And she protected HER world. She stayed here. She took him out that window. There's no need to keep trying to earn her. She's yours. And you're hers. I just met you…a few days ago. I just met you. But I can see her all over you. And I saw her on that boat. She saved me. She came back for us. And she kissed you. She's waiting for us. So, let's go get her. And set your world right."

Chris rolled his hand over and gripped hers, palm to palm, for just a moment.

"You're pretty fucking smart, Alomar."

"I heard that somewhere. You won't die here, Chris Redfield. You're the Human Tank. This is where you roll right over the top of Albert Wesker and finish him."

They moved deeper into the cave while he laughed. And if it felt good to laugh.

It was the first time he thought maybe she was right. Maybe this was where the good guys won. Maybe it was where he killed the bad guy and saved the girl and lived happily ever after.

Maybe.

Storybook? Why not? He was tired of living in the nightmare. Maybe it was time for the underdog to rise. Maybe it was time for the Dragon to fall to St. George. Maybe he'd survive it and take Jill home and marry her and have a half dozen babies and live forever.

Why not?

It felt really good to believe it…even if it was only for just a moment.

Excella tapped her foot excitedly. The gesture made her ample bosom tremble prettily. The Dolce and Gabbana silk concoction she wore left little and somehow everything to the imagination. It was white and cut so low that the eye had to keep on staring at the perfect cleavage it displayed. Her hair was perfectly coiffed and beautifully controlled. It left the timeless beauty of her face naked to the careful eye of those who would dare covet.

She liked being coveted.

She just wanted ALBERT to do so.

She ran her long nails up the inside of his bare arm, shivering. His expression was bored and, just slightly, amused.

"The preparations are complete, my darling."

Wesker watched her saucily stab him with the syringe of the compound that controlled his body. It kept him strong. It was a crutch, an ugly one, and one he was going to divest himself of when the time was right. Uroboros and he would…soon merge. It would be beautiful and for all time. It would begin the ascension he'd been planning since he'd been nothing more than a little boy at the behest of a fool.

"Good." He rose as she replaced the empty syringe in her case.

Excella laughed a little, "You know, I was surprised Las Plagas worked so well here. When you first arrived, I had my doubts. I should know better than to doubt you, my love."

She rose and slid her hand over the slick leather shoulder of his battlesuit. It always THRILLED her to touch him. It made her damp in her panties just standing beside him. In all her life, he was the only man that was as brilliant as she was. She didn't even care that he was old enough to be her father. His beauty was above reproach. His intellect unparalleled…his vision…it left her breathless.

She cooed, "Now Uroboros is complete."

"And your position at Tricell is secured, as promised."

Her eyes trailed over his body, so carefully contained within that suit he loved. It molded to each delicious muscle. It drew the eye to the perfection of his thighs and the promise of his ass. She moved against him like a cat in heat. Eager, needy, hungry.

"Oh, I have something…so…much…bigger…" Her hand slid over his hip and suggestively teased. "…in my sights. You'll be needing a Queen, Albert. Yes? I believe I have proven myself…useful."

Her hand slid over his stomach now, petting, playing. His eyes turned down to her, face impassive, lost behind those glasses that tempted her. She wanted to see his eyes while she rose above him. She wanted to OWN him. It was possession and it tasted like blood in her mouth to want it. "I am worthy, Albert. I am ready to sit beside you in the new world."

His hand came up. It cupped her face…and then it tightened almost cruelly. She made a sound of excitement and pain. His thumb stroked her eager throat and his lips sneered on a little smile. "Perhaps…you are right, Excella. You have been so loyal. I will…reward you."

Oh. Oh. She shivered. Her body bowed a little toward him.

From the doorway, the mechanical lilt of his TOY. "The BSAA has arrived."

Wesker shoved Excella from him gently. She jerked her head with a sneer of discontent.

Irritated, Excella drawled, "Your old friend, Jill? Yes? Chris Redfield. Do I sense concern, Albert?"

She sounded so snide. It grated on his nerves. He wanted to rip her heart from her chest and watch her die. It wasn't yet time for that, it seemed. She still needed to fulfill her purpose to him.

And so, he answered, coolly, "The plan is in place. I will not tolerate interruptions. Jill? Go with Excella and contain the problem."

Excella scoffed and spun away, striding on five-inch ice-pick heels. "You send your pet to escort me. When will I earn your favor? Must I always be forced into the company of your lackey?"

"Excella, do not bore me with your whining. Ready the test subjects. Release the B13's. They should keep Redfield busy."

The lickers.

He wanted to let loose the lickers in the lab. There had to be at least fifty of the fucking things down there. Jill felt her trepidation mount.

But she nodded and followed Excella from the office.

Wesker observed the cold steel of his playground. Redfield.

The wheels were in motion, finally. The house of cards was still standing. Soon enough, it would all come crashing down.

It was the first time in years that the man who'd once been Albert Wesker began to feel glee. The feeling of it nearly left him breathless. As it had when he'd stood above Spencer's frail shell and watched the light die in his eyes.

You were the first…the best…a superior race of humans…a NEW WORLD…PROGENITOR…I was MEANT TO BE A GOD…

Gravelly and weak, fragile and dying, the old man in his wheelchair-bound to his mortality by the tenuous strings of the human shell. Brilliant or not, the flesh was decaying around him, and the fool had never bothered to inject himself with any of his creations to immortalize the body he inhabited.

And so his time was limited. Using his preternatural eyes, Wesker could see the heart in that frail breast. It was skipping beats. It was clogged. It was congested in the aorta and the ventricle was having trouble firing correctly. The machine of his body was shutting down. He was ancient by human standards and if his shell survived another week, it would be miracle.

So instead?

He put his lips to the old man's ear, a final gift to him for indoctrinating him to the purpose, for pulling him from the perils of mankind and giving him the platform to ascend, and he said softly, "That right is now MINE."

The gasp. The crunch. The wet pop and burst of bone and blood. And that heart, cleaved and stripped from the cracked and brittle breast that had contained it. It dripped in his palm, it beat once more, and went still.

Spencer slid to the floor, the chair overturned, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish…and then he was gone…released from his mortal coil. His legacy remained, standing in the lightning above him, holding his heart in his bloody palm.

Wesker smiled, rolling the paperweight in his palm as if he could still feel Spencer's beating heart there. "I believe I should thank you, Ozwell. You are the creator after all…of the Wesker children. But I? I will be the creator…of the new world."

The tanks beneath him were huge. There were so many. They lined the steel floor of the warehouse where they were gathered, awaiting the moment their gift was freed to the masses.

Awaiting the moment they were given their purpose.

Awaited the moment the name across them was spread across the globe and the new world began.

One name. One purpose. One reason.

It was time.

Time…for Uroboros.


	33. Chapter 33

XXXIII: The hands of Albert Wesker

:::::::::::::Thirty-Three::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 –Tricell Division Camp– 8:16 p.m.

It was a garden.

A garden – of death.

The flowers that grew and flourished pointed toward the light that filtered and spilled through the open cave ceiling. Sheva reached the small red flowers first, kneeling down to peer into their flame colored petals. She lifted her brows at him.

Chris shrugged a little, "No idea. An odd fucking place for a gar-"

To the side of the enormous raised flower bed, a crate. Just a crate. Nothing really. Innocuous. Utterly generic.

But not.

NOT.

He breathed it, "You fucking kidding me!?"

And one hand vaulted over the edge to the damp ground beneath. He landed, loud and with a splash, and hurried toward the crate. Sheva hurried down the stairs after him.

"Chris? What?"

His hand reached out, three fingers gloved, two exposed for shooting and maintenance...and they swiped the dust and debris from the symbol there on the ugly green crate. It was a symbol he'd spent years working beneath. It was the face of the devil and the soul of all that was evil and wrong.

Not Wesker...not exactly...

"Umbrella." Even the name hurt. It was like inhaling pain. He punched the heavy metal and listened to it clang in the quiet air. "What in the fuck!?"

And now he rose. He turned, big shoulders catching the dappling sunlight that spilled through the cracked cave walls. It haloed his handsome face, it left the expression enraged in a way Sheva had never seen it. He was all chiseled jaw and big blue eyes. A good face, without question, but overlaid with a pain that she was just starting to understand.

The tents beside the garden were burlap and canvas. It was clearly a camp set up for the purpose of perpetuating the growth of that flora and fauna. And the name on the side had his asshole tightening up in a way that told him he was beyond pissed.

"Tricell. Why? Working with Umbrella?! WHY!?"

It was hissed. It was breathed. It was a growl in the quiet air.

Sheva shook her head, disheartened. "I thought Umbrella was dead."

"The devil is alive and well, kid. In more ways than one. And working with a member of the GPC. Mother fucker. Who's the plant? Who's the traitor? Irving said Excella. Do you know who that is?"

Sheva shifted, digging through files and papers now in the tent where they stood. She read memos and documents. "Best guess? Excella Gionne. She's the head of the Tricell African Branch. THE HEAD, Chris. If she's dirty, god knows who else is."

"It's Morgan fucking Lansdale all over again."

"Who?"

He shook his head. "These goddamn corporate vampires. Can't they ever not shit where they eat? Dirty fucking cops on the take, every last one of them. This one is clearly working with Wesker. Uroboros...what the fuck is it made of?"

And then Sheva lifted her eyes from the document in her hands. Her face...it was so pale. She lifted the paper out to him. And she shook her head. "Oh, Chris. I'm so so sorry."

"What?"

He took the paper and looked down at it. A bunch of stupid doctor stuff. It was vitals and preliminary results from testing done to determine antibody resistance in contribution to the -

His brain stalled.

Because the subject used to contribute the antibodies was Jill Valentine.

"What's this shit?" His voice sounded odd. It sounded rational when what he was seeing wasn't. It just wasn't.

"It...it's saying Jill's blood was used to make the virus stronger. To improve the ratio of..." She trailed off.

So he finished it for her, with disbelief,"….human viability and response. They took antibodies from her blood to stabilize the virus for human contamination."

"Yes...I'm so sorry."

He shook his head and folded the memo. He put it in his vest for safe keeping. "That's why he kept her. I guarantee it. He gets a puppet and a key player in his end game, just like that. I bet he was thrilled to find out she had what he needed. The goddamn T-Virus. It keeps on winning. But what's the rest? What's the catalyst?"

Look to the flower that opens in the sun...

He spun around. He stopped.

He finally gasped. "Sheva...SHEVA..."

"What? What is it?"

"What is that flower?"

They started digging through more papers. Reams of useless shit. Memos between nerds. A diary about some guy named Eugene and his ability to light his farts, clearly it was boring as fuck living adjacent to an underground garden. And finally?

GOLD.

Aloud, Chris gave voice to the journal in his hands, "The testing is going so well! The subject responds happily now to repeat testing. He is BRILLIANT! How did he knew that PROGENITOR was the key!? The stairway to the sun! ALL HAIL!"

He threw the little book down.

"That idiot. That Hitleresque mother fucker. Playing god with the beginning of the whole thing. Progenitor flowers. JESUS."

They stared together at the seemingly pretty blooms. It was the field of poppies for Dorothy. But so much worse. SO much worse. If they touched those blooms, what would happen? There would be no lying down and dreaming peacefully among them. They would become something horrible and evil. They would mutate and deform and rend flesh and bone to feed.

"….cheese and fucking rice."

He turned to the far door. "Let's get the fuck out of here. Radio Josh if you can. Give him the GPS coordinates of this damn nightmare. Get boots down here to torch the shit out of it."

"Copy that."

Sheva tried to raise Josh on her headset and Chris moved to the far door to ease it open and look beyond. His heart started to beat a frantic tattoo in his chest. He called, excitedly, "Shev? Sheva? Come on. COME ON. I think we found the lab or something."

Sheva followed him through the doors and they found themselves in a moment straight from a science fiction movie. He glanced around, awaiting the arrival of the machines that would come to retrieve the human batteries from their sleeves to power their monstrous city. But there was no Neo. There was no Zion. There were only pods suspended in hundreds from steel chambered walls.

They were hung like ugly Christmas ornaments around the circular chamber. A large lift in the center offered a console with a huge LCD screen. It awaited the request of an operator. Sheva stood on the long metal walk in horror, shaking her head.

"What have they done? Chris? What have they done?"

He hurried to the console and started typing keys. An index popped up requesting search criteria and Chris plugged in the only one that mattered: Jillian Aime Valentine.

A scramble of data started to populate. The screen spilled through a thousand names and made Sheva give a sound of distress at the sheer magnitude of what it meant. Chris whispered, "They've been kidnapping people from all over the world. Like some kind of fucking human trafficking ring. All these people...missing. Somebody out there is trying to find every one of them. Jesus Christ."

The screen bonged happily...and pulled up one of those people.

The picture from the little PDA and six more. It was HER. It was JILL. And the answer was finally there. It was in his face. It was there in black and white and flickering knowledge. Alive.

And operational.

What did that mean? Operational?

The screen spoke now with a crisp British accent: "Subject requested?"

He clicked yes.

And the lift bumped, thumped, and started downward into the glistening dark that awaited them. Chris felt his hands shaking. His heart was knocking. His palms were sweaty.

He hadn't been this nervous since the first time he'd had to face the music for sneaking out to fuck his girlfriend in the back seat of his Nova in the eleventh grade. There was no grounding or grass mowing coming to him now though. No. But Jill was. Maybe Jill was coming to him.

He felt like he might feint or vomit or fart. His stomach was a mess.

An alarm began to blare from somewhere above him. A red light started flashing. Chris glanced at Sheva. She shrugged and looked up at where they'd been.

The screen let out a peal of sound. It flashed a failure alarm at them. ACCESS DENIED. Chris arched a brow, Sheva shrugged again, and he said, "Why?"

"Someone stopped us possibly?"

"I don't kn-"

Nope.

Not exactly.

The worlds biggest carapace plated spider did. It was huge to the point of being as wide as a city block and as tall as a sky scraper. It's plethora of horrible eyes sat above a mouth that opened, dripped saliva in a sticky gross mess, and showed thousands of teeth that were completely happy to eat them alive.

Its legs were as long as three school buses set nose to tail. They smashed and stabbed as they came down now, dancing a horrible rhythm of metal squeals and shrieking sparks that lit the flashing red air around them. It was all running and rolling now. It was shouting and ducking.

A leg came down, speared through the metal floor in front of him, got lodged there in the grated flooring and started jerking. The spider shrieked, Chris dropped his knife into his fist, and he stuck it into the fat pulsing bubble of rot at the juncture of its joints. The segmented legs were the weak spot, without a doubt, and waiting to be severed from the rest of its fat body.

Sheva, quick as a snake, grabbed the wild plan of it.

They split up and divided the chore of it. When it could, it leaped up and stuck to the walls around them, ripping the poor pods of people there free from their entrapment to plummet to their demise in the dark below. It was horrible. It was too awful to think of living in stasis only to die like that...sucked of life to be reduced to some kind of leathery corpse soaked in turpentine.

It was a cruelty that made the stomach sick. People, reduced to guinea pigs. People, reduced to mummies without any purpose other than play toys for a perverted megalomaniac and his protégé. Jesus Christ. There was no hope here in this wasteland of horrors.

Tiny winged bugs broke loose in a burst of fluid and gore from the back of the spider. They were like mosquitoes on crack. They buzzed and zipped in the air, dangling long trumpet shaped mouths as they dove to try to sample skin and bone. Sheva shot the first one inches from his face. Chris took the next in a swing of knife.

The smell of dirt and burning hair was so bad it left the nose wrinkled in response to it. The lift was trying to plummet and break beneath the bombardment of the enormous legs. It tried to slap them and impale them as it birthed its nasty babies all around them.

Chris blasted it uselessly from the ground and finally focused on the bugs trying to eat his eyes. One landed on his face and he grabbed it, ripped it free, and felt it take a hunk of skin with it. The bleeding was instant. It was everywhere. It looked worse than it was, clearly, as it only stung but Sheva shouted like he'd been shot in the face at close range.

He shook his head to calm her and threw the bug into the steel to stomp it flat.

His hand shot up to wipe the blood from his face and his palm was saturated with it. Yeah, nothing bled worse than a face laceration. All the capillaries so close to the skin burst like mad at trauma or attack. It always looked like a slaughter to get a head wound.

They nearly fell when the spider nosedived back to the steel lift in front of them. Sheva went to one knee, Chris was thrown into the console with a ring of steel, and the spider roared so loudly it echoed up the long chute. Spittle flew in strings of foamy goop, plopping and splashing around them amidst the addition of fetid, rotten breath. It blew Sheva's hair back with the force of the air.

She made a face like she'd puke and Chris almost laughed.

Instead?

He dropped a grenade into his palm.

It was an idea that basically got ripped out of his ass like the typewriters in the Spencer Mansion. Why not? What was there to lose?

He threw the grenade into the roaring mouth like he was trying to strike out the best hitter in the entire league. He wound up and pitched, pulling the pin, slinging the destructive treat into the gaping maw of teeth and foamy saliva.

Sheva saw it, rolled to the ground and sought cover, and Chris did the same.

The grenade went off, the roaring was cut short in mid sound, and the spider farted twin plumes of fire and melting steel into the sky around it. The exoskeleton was cracked and blown apart. The brains were instantly visible, pulsing, promising, bleeding and pink inside the naked cavity of its head.

Sheva laughed a little and started shooting.

Chris echoed her and they unloaded everything they head into that pulsing matter.

It didn't take much. The sensitive tissue of the exposed organ was torn to shreds in moments. It sent the bleeding, stinking, stumbling mess tumbling backward. The lift groaned beneath the wait of it and the spider slid free of the steel with a scraping sound like nails on a chalkboard. They both winced, Chris covered one ear, and it went plunging into the darkness beneath them. It spun. It swirled. It screamed uselessly.

And it was suddenly very quiet.

Sheva shifted toward him and grabbed his chin. Her hands pressed a small piece of gauze to his cheek. The salve on it burned a little and Chris hissed at it.

Amused, Sheva rolled her eyes, "Tough guy. You can handle it."

"Have we met? All these muscles? For show."

"Clearly. Some He-Man you are."

"Told ya. No hero. Just a guy with a gun."

"And a genius. The grenade? Brilliant."

"Nope. Desperate. Not the same."

"Keep being humble, Redfield. Looks good on you."

He grinned at her and the lift clunked. It beeped. The lights came back up and the alarms stopped. Sheva let go of his face and the lift halted.

One of the pods on the wall gave with a hiss of hydraulic pressure releasing. The long metal arm binding it elongated, pushing the pod toward them. Chris grabbed her wrist without thinking, squeezing.

The pod hissed, it split in half, it opened. Fluid spilled in a downpour from the exposed satin lining within it. Gray, cold based on the air that rushed out to touch their eager faces, and empty.

The pod was empty.

No Jill.

No body.

Empty.

Chris let go of Sheva. He hunched over. His hands landed above his knee pads. And he drew a ragged breath.

Sheva rubbed his back, gently.

"...fuck. Fuck fuck fuck."

She patted him with sympathy. "It's okay."

"Is it? Where is she?"

And now she knelt, touching his face. She smiled again. "You know that answer. You know where she is. Say it. Say it now and accept it."

His stomach rolled. Sheva looked so calm and patient. Him? All fucking nerves.

His hand cupped over his sweaty face. It cupped over his mouth and rubbed. And he said hoarsely, "Jill is the woman in the mask. She's the robot. She's working for Wesker."

"Yes."

"Jill Valentine is working for Albert Wesker."

"….yes."

Oh my god.

He nearly threw up.

Of course, he'd known. Why was this so hard? He'd known. He was light headed. His hands shifted and covered his eyes. He ground the heels into his closed lids and made a small sound of horror.

"I left her here. She's been here this whole time, his fucking stooge. His plaything. His companion. Oh god. I left her here with him. And he took her blood, pumped her full of god knows what, and she took it. She took it. Why? Jesus Christ."

And Sheva said, "You know that too. We talked about it. You know the answer. Say it. Put it out there. And deal with it. Now."

He rose now, breathing slow and deep. Sheva nodded, rising beside him. She forced his gaze to hers, hard and unyielding. And he said it. Because it was time to say it.

"Because she loves me."

"Yeah. She loves you. It's that simple. It's not your fault."

Chris scoffed a little, shaking.

Sheva grabbed his big forearms in her hands and squeezed. "No. Look here. Keep looking here. It is NOT your fault. She chose. She chose the window. She chose the fall. And she chose you. YOU. Don't blame yourself. Don't punish yourself. You can't take it back. It's done. But you CAN go forward. Go on. And let's find her. Let's set her free. And let's stop Uroboros."

Chris said, so quietly, and broke her heart. "Jill is afraid to fall. It's the thing that scares her most in the whole world. I promised her I wouldn't let her fall."

Sheva held his eyes, scanning his face. "She chose it. She CHOSE it. Don't repay that now by falling apart. She's here. You've come this far. GET HER BACK. Catch her. Now? You can catch her."

The screen flickered behind them.

Sheva looked first. Chris turned with her.

And a beautiful face was watching them with an avid purse of lips. "Hmm. Still alive? A pity."

Chris' voice dragged out of his mouth, so deep it was hard to hear it. "Where the fuck is Jill?"

"Jill? Jill? Who is this?"

Sheva kept on holding on to his arms. She spoke to Excella, quietly, "Excella Gionne, a member of the Global Pharmaceutical Consortium...why? Why turn against the purpose? Why work with Umbrella?"

"Why not? As if I should explain myself...to the help." She turned her gaze, licking her lips a little, "Mr. Redfield...a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I can see that the rumors weren't all untrue. They did say you had a certain...attraction. Perhaps some women prefer their Neanderthals...burly. I'm afraid I prefer a much more refined touch."

The hate for her nearly choked him. He wanted to punch her in the face and knock her Italian accent right down her throat. The need was painful.

"Shouldn't you be retreating? I know you were given orders. Why are you still here?"

Sheva exclaimed, "So that WAS you! Why?!"

Excella smirked, shrugging.

Sheva glanced at Chris. And he said, "You traiterous bitch, I'm gonna give you one more chance to tell me where Jill is and pull the plug on this shit show you're running here. One more. Push me? You'll see the other part of the rumors."

Excella shivered with delight. "Ooh. They say you once ripped a man's head off his shoulders with just your bare hands. True?"

Chris made a sound like a scoff, "One? No. Three in row? Yeah. The fourth one I put a hot poker through his balls while he screamed like a bitch. That tends to happen to people that get in my way."

Excella laughed with a roll of her eyes. "Your threats bore me. There is no Jill. No reason to stay. And no reason to fight on. Turn around, go home, forget your vigilante mission. Continue on? I will see you put down...like your DOG before you."

The screen flickered off.

The rage trembled so finely in him it was barely leashed. He knew the danger of it. He knew it was bad to run forward on emotion and regret and revenge. He had to get it together. He had to calm down.

He wasn't sure he could. He wasn't sure he could do anything but stand there and breathe...while he pictured shoving a hot poker into the eye of the head of the African Tricell Branch...and watching her writhe and scream while she bled out beneath him.

…..

Excella turned from the monitor, sighing dramatically. "Ugh. Jill...your boyfriend is pathetic. This is what you had before Albert? That...mutt? That beast? He is all hair and muscle, utterly plebeian and possessed of a certain...hulkish charm. I want you to go kill him now. Go on. I'm growing bored playing with him. Release the Uroboros test subject in stasis. It should finish the job. Meet me in the observation deck to witness his demise. Shoo."

Jill waited until Excella strutted from the room on her ice pick heels. Her derriere wagged back and forth in a sashay meant to draw the male and female eye alike. The walk was lovely, in a purely feline way, offering the eye a nice view of the white italian silk clad ass she was showing off. Jill wanted to kick her in it and knock her on her face.

She needed the damn case. Did the woman take shits with it attached to her? Cheese and rice.

Jill paused, blinking.

There it was. That line. It made her smile a little behind the mask. Apparently the closer she got to him, the closer she came to who she'd been. It was time to offer help once more it seemed.

She moved through the facility, tapping into security feeds as she went.

She caught Chris and Sheva moving through the storage facility now. They picked off the plagas infested easily enough. Chris and Sheva played well together. The girl was good at taking ques from him regarding danger and the type of enemy they were facing.

They communicated through silence and gestures. They shifted and covered each other. Sheva Alomar was beautiful. No getting around that. She was also YOUNG. Jill studied her while she moved, while she'd laugh and talk, while she'd occasionally touch his arm.

She looked for signs like Jessica, flirtation, touching that was inappropriate. She tried to see if Sheva was trying to make it personal. It looked, to her practiced gaze anyway, that Sheva was as professional as Chris. Teamwork required a certain level of intimacy. It was trust and acceptance and even the ability to ease each other into things that were frightening or raw.

Sheva seemed to understand him. When they came up against the Reapers, Wesker's mutated cockroaches born from an accidental exposure to Uroboros, they worked together almost as well as she and Chris had. Sheva would shift and distract, causing it to gush and spill the fumes around it that obscured vision and produced an almost invisibility affect. Then Chris would move in behind it and shoot it. As it turned, the undercarriage was exposed, the delicate tissue that was its only weakness...and Chris went to one knee, ducked into its attack range, and thrust his knife into it before it split him open with its massive boney claws attached to its spindly legs.

She pressed a hand to her belly, watching him move. When had he decided to work on the knife skills? He was smooth, flawless, quick. Not just muscle and mass, he'd shifted his game. And the knife he wielded was hers.

God.

She missed him. She didn't even know him anymore. Who was he? He had Chris' eyes. He had Chris' smile. But where was Chris? The muscular angry man with his eyes wielded a knife like she'd never seen. He had a son. He had a fantastic haircut, maybe for the first time ever, and a partner that looked like Beyonce does Charlie's Angels.

Who was this guy?

But the answer there was simple too. Hers. He was hers.

It was time to earn him back.

Jill hit the button to release the Uroboros test subject. He flopped in his chair and waited. The lab was dark and long. It was lit by tanks filled with half succeeded Uroboros attempts. It was the gateway to the B13 playground. If they made it through "#17", they still had to get through the specimen collection area. It was infested with B13s. All the handlers were dead. Wesker didn't care. He'd said release them. He wanted them to run amuck. He wanted the mess and the blood and the horror of it.

Lickers three deep on the other side of the lab. She hoped Sheva Alomar was as good as she looked. Because they were about to ass deep in danger unlike anything they'd seen so far.

Jill hit the button to fill the tank on the flamethrower in the lab. It was part of the containment protocol. It was the ONLY way to finish off 17 if they wanted him out of their way. Fire was the only guaranteed method of destruction.

She turned and nearly pissed herself. Fergusson was standing there watching her.

She put a hand to her chest, breathing sharp and fast. "Geezus. What the hell, Ferg. Seriously."

Fergusson whispered, "I'm so sorry. He knows you're fighting the compound and not always under control of it. He wants me to dose you now and every three hours until it's done. I'm so sorry."

Jill's heart started to throb in her chest. Her hand hit the release on the flamethrower, leaving it ready for use. "Ok. Ok. Listen to me...before you hit the button...listen to me. Hide. Or run. OR stick to the plan and wait it out. But make sure Chris finds out about the PG67A/W. It's all I need. You've done so much for me. Make sure he finds out, if he puts me down. Because Wesker will send me to kill him."

"….ok. I'm sorry, Jill. I want to help you be free."

"I know you do. I know. It's not your fault. Any of this. Give me...just a second here..." Her eyes. Why was she crying? Shit. She was so afraid. Her hands were shaking. The P30 was horrible. It was so bad. It was like dying and screaming and bleeding out while you laid there paralyzed. The ultimate paralytic, it left you nothing but a shell. The first time she'd tried to think of Chris and shake it off. It almost worked but it wasn't enough.

She was afraid now. Terrified. Because it made her something unstoppable. It imbued her with strength and speed and skill. It took her training and made her what Wesker had always intended: his immortal goddess of destruction.

She'd hijacked his communication signal a long time ago. She was listening and watching him and pacing him. It was a little stalkerish, sure. Or not. Because she was trying to HELP him. And it had gotten her caught.

You shouldn't have kissed him, idiot.

True. Stupid. Impulsive. Human. Female.

Stupid.

Jill – get out here and talk to me. You're acting like an idiot.

You mean a GIRL!? FYI, Red, I AM a girl! I get to act nuts and throw things and have a fit. In case you forgot, I'm not a DUDE!

Girl fail.

Damnit.

She touched her ear and waited for it to connect. It buzzed and she caught his conversation he was currently having.

Missles? For what?

A war?

It wouldn't surprise me at all. Jesus.

Holy shit, what are those things?

You kiddin? Those are lickers, Alomar. You remember? The ones Kennedy killed with a piece of glass?

Jesus. I hope they don't get out of those damn cages.

You ever known anything to go right for us since this started?

...nope.

Laughter.

She wanted to listen to him with her eyes closed forever. Instead, she cued into their conversation. "Redfield."

The laughter was cut short.

The buzz of white noise echoed in her ear and then? "Jill?"

Jesus. He knew. Of course he knew. He was slow but not that damn slow. Sometimes. Sometimes he was so slow he was like a turtle on valium.

She cut the feed to the mic she'd stuck on Excella's shoe that morning. It hissed and popped. It filled his ears with her conversation in crackling bursts.

"….are you doing, Albert? Things are going according to plan. Soon...it will all be ready. And the world ours?"

Chris whispered, "Shit. Wesker. I knew it. I was hoping I was fucking wrong."

Jill broke the feed to Excella and said, "The Monarch room is where gods and kings combine. Gods and mortals face confrontation. And fighting a god...is best done in the dark."

"Jill, if that's you...stop talking in riddles. Talk to me. It's me, Chris. It's me. Are you in there?"

I'm still here.

Aloud she instructed, "Redfield...fire will cleanse the world of the blight. The thing you seek? It is blighted. It is damned. Leave it. And fight on without it. Destroy it and free the world."

She could HEAR him breathing.

Desperate now, he answered her, "What has he done to you? Jill? Let me help you. Where are you?"

Her hand wavered on her mouth. The fucking crying. It wouldn't STOP. She hated it. But she replied, "The Devil is alive and well. The god will fall to its own arrogance. The dark, Redfield. The dark to defeat it. The fire to cleanse it. Do not forget."

"Jill!"

And she clicked off.

Her heart was pounding so hard. She turned away from the window over looking the facility. Excella entered the room now beside Fergusson. She laid her case down. "Are they here yet?"

Jill answered, stonily, "Soon. They are nearly upon the lab."

"Good. Fergusson, dose her. I don't need her seeing her old lover and trying to fight beside him."

Jill closed her eyes, she pictured his. Happiness breaks the spell...

The dose hit her. It stole her breath. It stole her will. It stole her control.

And it left her a doll without a soul.

And a girl without a prayer.

...

Sheva touched his arm again. He was frozen where he stood.

She asked, gently, "She's alive?"

"She's alive. She's trying to help us. What does he have on her? Why not leave him now? I will fucking protect her. If she would just..."

Sheva eyed him, pointedly.

He breathed.

He sighed.

"Right. It's not her. It's me. She's staying with him for me. Right. Damnit Jill."

They opened the door into the darkness. The first row of tubes with gelatinous goop said TEST TUBES. The rest of the room said LAB. A row of computers set to one side, incorporating an entire wall. To the right? An ugly looking flame thrower in a recession.

Chris glanced down at Sheva.

She queried, "What the hell is THAT for?"

"I don't want to know. I really really really don't."

From above them, a shutter peeled open to show an observation deck surrounded by glass. Excella stood there, grinning. "Oh! We meet again. You are persistent...for a meat sack."

Chris turned his pistol to the glass. "Excella! Where the hell is Jill?!"

"Jill..Jill Jill...blah blah. A broken record. One track mind. One track, stupid, puny mind. He said you were dumb but eager. Shut up about Jill. You've been tracking Uroboros? Here is my gift to you. Enjoy his company."

The mechanical woman stepped up beside Excella. Chris felt his breath catch. He wanted to hail her but didn't dare. If Excella wasn't aware of the help she was giving them, she'd have her killed if it was revealed now.

And there were greater things to worry about.

Moving across the lab toward them was a skinny little man. He was bald and naked. His skin had started to ripple like a pebble tossed into water. It bubbled and shimmered. And from the black places of necrotic skin that covered him like warts, tentacles began to burst. Black, ugly, whipping and whirling with delight, the tentacles began to swirl around him as if they were snakes attempting to coil and defeat him. But they didn't defeat...they embraced.

They blended. His eyes lifted in his shifting face...and spilled red and orange with a pupil like a snake. He hissed at them and shivered. He wobble walked and swirled with tentacles.

Excella sighed excitedly above them.

Sheva shouted, "You bitch! You ARE using Uroboros as a BOW! And now you'll sell it to terrorists!"

"Good guess...but no. I have no intention of selling it. While it resembles the Progenitor BOWS of the first strains of experimentation...it isn't. And it is not for sale. It is brilliant. It is a RIGHT for those who earn it."

Chris backed up with Sheva, tracking the man in front of them. "Then what the fuck are you doing with it!?"

"Evolution. A philosopher's stone if you will. A gift that will choose through DNA who ascends...and who declines into nothing. My vision and HIS combined for the new reality. You will see soon enough...as will...the world."

The tentacle man stopped. He gasped. The tentacles sucked backed into his flesh with a rip and pop of skin and bone. And he screamed.

He screamed so loud.

It was horrid.

It stole the breath.

It was frightening. He convulsed where he stood, jerking and grunting. He contorted, spine popping and breaking, ribs cracking. His arms shook and split.

And Excella said, "Ah well. He was unworthy it seems. He has no place in the new world. Enjoy his company. I have plans to keep."

Chris shouted. It roared. It echoed in the lab. "EXCELLA! DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE!"

But the door opened and Excella left with the mechanical woman in tow.

And the body of the victim of her machinations blew apart. He exploded. He imploded with a crumble of self-mutilation. Tentacles replaced flesh and became ten feet by twelve feet in height and length. The tentacle monster they'd faced that had decimated Alpha team.

But then? They'd had a fucking incinerator to stop it.

Fire.

Fire would cleanse the world of blight.

He turned slowly. Sheva started shooting and Chris shook his head.

"Forget that. Forget it. Come on!"

They ran around the test tubes and Chris grabbed for the flamethrower there on the wall. Sheva blinked at him. He nodded.

"Yeah. Remember?"

"Riiiight. FIRE."

"Fire. Keep it on you and let me burn this fucker up."

"Deal." Sheva ran out into the lab, whistling. She waved her arms and did a little version of the chicken dance. It was pretty fucking cute.

The thing pursued her around the bend while she did the two step and went into the hokey pokey or something. Entertained, Chris hefted the enormous flame thrower. It was weighty. Even his muscles let him know how heavy it was.

Sheva did a cartwheel and clapped.

The tentacles whipped at her and she dove, missing a slap to the face.

And Chris blasted the damn thing with the flamethrower.

It WHOOSHED. It RUSHED. It made a sound like a plane in the sky RIGHT ABOVE YOU. The weapon kicked and clunked with connecting sparks and wires. The spray of flame shot out like tongues of destruction. It hit the black swirling mass and started melting, smoking, stinking.

Pieces began to plop and drop in a wiggling mess to the grated floor. They were incinerated where they landed. The tentacle beast was jerking and jumping. Three enormous red bulbs ejected from the smoking mass it. It looked like buds the size of basketballs on a rose bush. And they were pulsing and waving as if to avoid the flame.

"SHEVA!"

"Got it, pah'tner!" She started firing into the whipping bulbs.

Chris turned the fire up to them as well. His hands started to sweat, his face was dripping, the heat was STIFLING. And somehow it was awesome. Wielding the damn thing felt like power in his fingers. He felt like a wizard smiting the forces of evil with righteous flame.

And then it was empty. It clunked and fizzed.

The tentacle monster slumped to the ground, still waving one bulb. Chris dropped the flamethrower with a heavy thump of metal to metal and pulled a grenade. "Fall back!"

Sheva turned and ran for cover.

He pulled the pin, tossed the grenade into the writhing mess on the floor, and dove behind a row of test tubes.

The impact was ridiculous. It splattered tentacles and gooey slop and sickness, like a hose lifted and sprayed over eager grass. The test tubes took a face full of fucking nasty. The stench was acrid. It was putrid. It smelled like rotten eggs and body odor in a bag of dog shit in the sun. It was gag worthy.

Chris gagged. He heard Sheva wretch.

They both hurried for the far door before one of them spewed chunks all over the place.

The small hallway beyond was narrow and empty of threats. Slamming the door, Chris leaned on the wall taking shallow breaths. Sheva shuddered, heaving and trying not to throw up.

"The new world? Is she kidding?"

Chris shook his head, "Nope. She's as fucking nuts as her snuggle bunny, Wesker. Apparently, psychotic delusions of grandeur are sexually transmitted."

"Shit. We can't let them. That? That's not evolution, Chris. That's...horrible. It's evil. It's not natural selection...it's unnatural perversion."

"Yeah. Yeah. A visionary? Whatever. She's just a fucking terrorist. End of story."

"Agreed."

They stood breathing for another moment. Sheva finally informed him, gently, "That was Jill with her."

"Yeah. I know."

"Let's go. Let's go get her back."

"Yeah. Before they shoot her full of that shit."

"Oh, god. Let's hurry."

They moved together to the door at the end of the long hallway. She lifted her eyes to his face. "If it means we both die, I'm with you until the end here."

Touched, he patted her shoulder. "Thanks. Should I ask why?"

"What we just saw? That can't get loose. If the price is me? It's worth it. It ends here. One way or another."

It was the truest thing he'd heard all night. And as they stepped through the door into the specimen room, it wasn't the last time either of them would say it. It would soon become their mantra. It would become their bonding mission statement.

It would become their battle cry.

And it was echoed by the woman trapped within the cage of her flesh...unable to help keep them alive.

She watched as they took on the lickers. First one, then two, and then more.

From walls covered in blood and guts, to floors awash in sticky red death, they pushed on. One became two, two became six, six became ten. The sheer overwhelming numbers drove them back toward an elevator and no way out.

The digital display said the was coming. The elevator was coming. But it wasn't going to get there in time.

As Excella held the monitor up for her eyes to partake, Jill felt the rage boiling in her blood. Her body remained, passive, stoic. Her brain remained alight with revenge. Oh, she could FEEL it. It was coming. It was COMING.

The moment she'd been waiting for was upon them. Three years of waiting.

Wesker eyed her where he stood at the base of the stairs. He was rolling a tube of pink liquid in his palm. Concerned, Jill stood like the statue she was while he watched her.

He finally spoke, tone buttery and smooth, "You once told me he wouldn't stop. That he would tear me down and destroy me. Is it revenge he's seeking, Jill?"

Surprisingly, her body spoke, "No. It's a reckoning."

"A reckoning, you say? Interesting. Perhaps you mean a reunion? I had intended to move on to the hangar and prepare the first pass of Uroboros...but perhaps there is time for one more game." He shifted toward her now and she wanted to run. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to watch his eyes while she stuffed him full of his own medicine and destroyed him with it.

And the darkest part of her shivered. It shivered. Because part of her still remembered the taste of him...and the shameful want that had blossomed inside her for the devil.

"They say the devil's greatest trick...was convincing the world he didn't exist." Wesker leaned down until they were eye to eye. He lifted her mask to see the dead blue of hers. "But that's not true, is it Jill?"

Again, her body responded, "No."

"What is the devil's greatest trick, Jill?"

"Convincing mankind to follow him."

Impressed, Wesker lifted his brows over his glasses. "What an answer. A curious one it would seem from a mindless drone. Mankind is quite gullible. In the absence of real leadership, they will often gravitate to any who step forward. The devil doesn't often need to trick the stupid, Jill, or the desperate. They will come to him on their own. Generally for purposes that are inane and utterly predictable...such as?"

Her robot voice intoned, "Love."

"Yes! Love. Do you love, Chris Redfield, Jill?"

Without a second to consider it, her mouth replied, "Yes."

Amused, Excella glanced at him. Wesker laughed a little, "See, Excella? Predictable. And so very droll. But the thing about being the devil...is this."

He turned to whistle. Fergusson came running from the far door like an eager puppy. He practically danced in his pants where he stood. Wesker dumped the pink vial into his palms. "That is the Hercules Complex. It's a variation of the P30 in one hand, created by the BRILLIANT Rebecca Chambers..."

Wesker looked to Excella again, "I would save her if I could. And turn her to us. But she is weak and follows her heart. So her brilliance is wasted."

Wesker eyed Fergusson, "It's volatile, of course. And unpredictable. It offers no control to the outside, like the P30. It offers little to the INSIDE even. It is indelicate at best. Good bones, poor execution. See that it falls into Redfield's hands. My reliable sources tell me he was quite addicted to it for some time. And I do want our reunion to go...perfectly. I need him capable of entertaining me. Let's see how he does...against his old partner no? His love. His soulmate. His...other piece?"

Wesker laughed a little and turned back to Jill as Fergusson fled the room again. Jill felt the horror bursting in her guts. It was fireworks of fear and desperation. That had been his plan all along. To have them battle to the death...the boy and the girl he couldn't turn, couldn't earn, couldn't defeat. He was going to use them...to destroy each other.

"Do you love Chris Redfield, Jill?"

Woodenly, "Yes."

"Will you kill Chris Redfifeld, Jill?"

"Yes."

Excella laughed with delight.

Wesker grinned, sharp, bright, frightening. "The devil's greatest trick...I can hardly wait to see the reunion. So beautiful. So poignant. So poetic. Good versus evil. Light versus dark. How trite. How cliche. How very human. And a good way to say goodbye to a world ruled by them. One last...dance with destiny, right Jill?"

"Yes."

"Say it. I want to HEAR it."

"I will kill Chris Redfield."

"Why?"

"Because you command it."

"And you will serve me at all costs, won't you, Jill?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I am yours."

"Yes. You are MINE. Not his. MINE. When he is dead, you will come with us. You will serve me in the new world, you will dedicate yourself to my purpose. And you will FORGET Chris Redfield. There is no room for love in the new world, Jill. Only power. Say it."

"No love. Only power. No Chris Redfield."

"Only?"

"Wesker."

"Yes." He grabbed her face in his hand, squeezing. The excitement on him was pungent. It was nearly manic in a way she'd never seen him before. "Yes. Only Wesker. And Uroboros."

And the horror nearly killed HER inside her shell. Because she knew, he knew, and Excella knew...there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She only hoped the Hercules Complex Wesker was yapping about worked. She hoped it made him equal to her. She hoped it made Chris BETTER. So, he could defeat her, destroy her, and stop the devil...from bringing Armageddon.

And leaving the world in the hands of Albert Wesker.


	34. Chapter 34

XXXIV: The Hercules Complex

:::::::::::::Thirty-Four::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 –– 9:24 p.m.

The long bridge lowered; it chugged almost musically as it settled over the divide.

Chris stepped among the graveyard of lickers like it was nothing; like he wasn't bleeding from eight different places where he'd been whipped or slashed. The talons scratched against the heavy leather of his boots. The dead were littered around them. Brains and blood and gore spilled over the stone in a chunky red river. As he walked, the world was treated to the symphony of three inches of blood splashing and rippling.

Sheva moved with him, covered in it, thick with it, wet from ears to toes. She'd leaped into the battle like a goddess. A caramel skinned Athena – thrown from the roof of the building where she'd been covering him while he lowered the bridge – she'd kept one from gutting him where he stood.

She'd ridden on its back like a pony, blasting apart the fragile bulge of its brain with her pistol at close range.

Chris had faced down the other two without flinching. The first flick a tongue had hit the side of his neck and split it open but the second hit his lifted arm. He'd wrapped it around his fist like he was reeling in a repel line. A jerk, a scream from the licker, and it had tried to gut him from the ground as he stomped its brains into the dirty floor beneath it.

The other one tried to get a piece of him while he obliterated its friend. He'd lifted his gun and shot it without even looking. Straight from the hip while he stomped, he'd put three clean shots into its screaming face. It flipped, he turned and kicked it, and it had skidded across the ground. With a desperate shriek, it had fallen down into the waiting dark.

The lickers were fast but stupid. Inefficient. Clearly put here to stop him from getting across that bridge.

Why?

And then a voice stopped them as they crossed it.

"WAIT!"

They turned back, guns up and pointed.

And a nerdy little scientist stopped, ten feet from them.

He lifted his hands. His eyes were huge behind his thick glasses. He was shaking. In the left hand? A syringe.

He said, "I-I-I-I'm the one who called you!"

Sheva lifted a brow.

Chris kept his gun on him. "I've never spoken to you. I don't know who the hell you are."

"I CALLED YOU! Remember? I said she was alive. She was alive. You're her squish right? Her guy?"

The gun came down. Just like that.

Chris moved toward him and the scientist squeaked and ran for it. Amused, Chris grabbed his flapping white coat as he fled. "Ease down, squeaky. I'm not gonna hurt you. Who are you?"

Nervous, doing the peepee dance, the scientist said, "Ferguson. I'm Ferg. Jill said…she said you were big."

Sheva stepped up next to him. To Fergusson? The pretty little girl standing there looked like a toddler standing next to a giant. Big, Jill said, not big. MASSIVE.

"I…she lied."

Chris tilted his head, twisting his lips to the side, "Right. I'm clearly very small and runty. Where is she?"

"N-No I just…I meant you're huge. You..might have a shot in hell if you use THIS!"

Sheva jumped when he shouted it.

Chris looked at the syringe in his sweaty palm.

"You joking here, nervous guy? You think I'm gonna shoot myself up with random shit given to me in a dirty dungeon by an odd little fellow about to crap his pants?"

Sheva snickered a little. Ferg? He said, "Yes."

And Chris felt the amusement spill over his face. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"

"Because you can't fight Wesker without it."

And there it was.

Tossed out there like a grenade. Pin pulled, one, two, tossed.

Boom.

Chris took the syringe.

Sheva gasped, "Hey. HEY. What are you doing?"

Ferg kept staring at him. Chris stared back. Ferg squeaked, "He'll kill me. I won't survive this. But Jill might. She might. If YOU stop him. You can't do it without this. He knows that. She knows that. You know that. Take it. And stop him."

Chris put the syringe in his thigh pocket. Sheva was shaking her head, "What the hell does that even mean? Chris?"

Chris watched Ferguson run off through the blood, retreating, squeaking. It was an odd moment.

And he replied, "It means we're close. And it means he wants me to dosed up on fucking drugs. Why? It can't be to fight him. That's just stupid. He wouldn't give me the keys to destroying him."

They moved across the bridge. Sheva glanced at his face. And she spoke so softly, "Would he give you the keys to destroying….Jill?"

Chris stopped. He looked at her. She was so calm. Covered in blood and so calm. And she was right.

She was right.

"He wants me to kill, Jill."

"….I think you know the answer to that."

"Mother fucker." Chris pushed open the doors in front of them. They emerged into some kind of chamber split by dual staircases that led to a balcony. He could see an elevator atop the rise. But it didn't matter.

What mattered?

Was right there in the grand foyer like she was hosting a tea party for special guests.

Sheva shouted, "EXCELLA GIONNE! STOP RIGHT THERE!"

Excella turned to face them, grinning. She did a slow clap, bobbling her perfect breasts with each movement. She tilted her head at them as they trained their guns on her excited face.

And Chris shouted, "Where's Jill!?"

"Jill Jill….JILL!"

The world fractured and the mechanical woman dropped to the floor in front of them. She rose, smooth and deadly and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

Excella said, "Kill them."

The mechanical woman kicked him. He barely had a second to see it coming. She was so FAST. She kicked him, spun around and hooked her knee behind his head and slung him out, raced forward and leaped…and drove him to his back on the ground like she was riding a surfboard.

He grunted, felt his back scream in pain, and Sheva rushed at her.

The mechanical woman laughed, spun low and tripped her, and then she leaped on her. She wrapped her thighs around Sheva's face, threw her body back like a rubber band, and threw the other woman out and away. Chris shot at her and she whipped herself up in a flipping arch, way too high for a human woman, and came down behind him.

He spun an elbow at her; she caught it, reversed it, and slung him around to face her. Grinning, she joint locked his arms together, tilting her head. The mask said, like listening down a tin can, "You can't win. Capitulate."

And Chris laughed, breathily with pain as she put so much pressure on his arms he was afraid she'd dislocate both of them, "Blow me."

She kicked him in the groin.

He went down onto his back while the world went white at the edges. Jesus. He'd had preferred she just fucking shot him. He rolled to the side, retching a little. He was also afraid he might barf his balls up any second.

Sheva was there trying to fend off the mechanical woman. But she was too fast. She was too much.

The answer was in Chris' pocket of course.

But he left it there.

Instead, he rolled to his side and fired from the floor. The woman dropped Sheva and leaped again, somersaulting and spinning. She kicked his partner twice and went into a triple back flip. But he didn't need a fucking god complex to hit a goddamn moving target. He'd been doing it since he was eight years old.

Fast or not, she was still a target.

And he blasted her from one knee in the face.

The bullet ripped the mask from her face. It sent it spinning to the floor. The woman skidded out of her flips and lifted her hand to her face to check for damage.

He called, "Yeah, you traitorous bitch, that's how good I am. You can't win. CAPITULATE!"

From above them, a voice, "Actually, I'm afraid she can win."

And there was Albert Wesker.

Not dead. Very much alive. And standing there in some ugly black cat burglar suit.

He grinned, taking the steps one at time, "What a moment. Chris…you've grown bigger it seems. Useless, of course, muscles. It won't make you fast enough or good enough. But it's amusing."

Chris rose to his feet, shaking. He was shaking.

It was interesting.

"You mother fucker. You son of a bitch. Why won't you just stay dead?"

Wesker laughed, delighted. He stepped up beside the mechanical woman. "You can't kill a god, Chris. You know that. But this is still a nice moment isn't it? All of us together again. A family reunion."

Chris kept the gun on them. Wesker tilted his head a little. "Still nothing? Alright. You were always so tough, Chris. So determined. But never the smartest of the bunch, were you? Always so slow to catch on."

He pulled the hood from the mechanical woman.

It spilled back and exposed her pale, pale hair. The jut of her bangs cut across her forehead. Her eyes were so pale they were nearly translucent in her ghostly face.

Ghostly.

Indeed.

The ghost of Jill Valentine.

And the answer was finally there.

The truth was staring him in the face.

He'd never been wrong. She wasn't dead. He'd been chasing, not her ghost, but her. And Wesker had had her all along.

The gun came down. It just did.

Sheva made a sound of horror.

But it wasn't about that anymore.

Not anymore.

Chris breathed it, and it was shaky, like he was shaky. And it was full of wonder and hope and need and desperation like no one word had ever been before in the history of the world. "Jill…?!"

The pale face watched him, stonily.

"Jill, it's me," He tried again. He took a step forward, "It's me, Chris."

Sheva whispered, "Are you sure it's her?"

Chris holstered his gun. The move frightened Sheva to death. But she watched him do it. He put his hands out, those gloved palms with their exposed fingers, like he was approaching a feral tiger or something. Like he was talking down a jumper from a roof. Like he was offering himself to a gunman to try to negotiate.

"It's her. You can change her eyes, her hair, her fucking face and I would still know her. She's mine." He moved toward her, words soft, "Jill…come with me. I'm here. I found you. I'm sorry it took me so long. But I'm here now. Come with me."

Wesker laughed a little as Jill continued to stand there like a statue.

He said, "Yes. It's her. The one and only. And not yours, you fool. Mine. MINE. Tell him, Jill. Tell him who you belong to."

And Jill answered, "Wesker."

Jesus Christ.

Chris shook his head, feeling the tremor of fear in his belly. "No. No. Jill, look at me, see me."

She actually let him get close to her. She seemed content to stand there while Wesker stood behind her, amused. She didn't move. She didn't do anything but study him. Chris took her hand while she blinked at him. He lifted it and set it on his chest. He set it over the locket and the medal he wore. He said, softly, "See? Me. It's me. You can still feel me. I know you're in there. I can still FEEL you. I can feel you, Jill. Come back to me."

Inside her head, Jill was screaming. She was fighting against the confines of her flesh like a thing possessed. She kept screaming at HIM.

GET AWAY! GET AWAY FROM ME! PUT YOUR GUN UP AND SHOOT ME! RUN! RUN AWAY!

She left the hand on his chest. She didn't seem to be interested in moving it. His other hand lifted to cup her face.

It was…

It stole his breath.

He hadn't touched her in so long. She was smooth and warm. His trembling hand kneaded the back of her neck and brushed her porcelain cheek.

He tried again, softly. And his voice shook, just a little. "Jill…Jill...come back to me. Come on. I see you. I feel you. I'm here. I'm right here."

Wesker didn't matter. Sheva didn't matter. Uroboros and the world and the threat of global extinction. Not in that moment. Not right then. None of it mattered.

Just Jill.

And it was the moment he understood her in the rain watching Terragrigia burn. Finally. He understood what she'd meant.

He'd trade the world to have her back with him.

He'd let it die if it brought her back. All of it. From the sun to the earth to the people that walked and talked and laughed. He'd take a flamethrower to all of it to keep her.

Wesker had been right all along.

Jill Valentine was his weakness.

There were only three things in the world he'd risk it all for. Claire, Kit…and Jill.

Jill.

He'd watch it all burn to save her.

The admission didn't come with guilt. It didn't come with regret. It came with strength. Because he knew now why he'd been empty for so long. It wasn't because she was dead. It was because she was ALIVE and he couldn't touch her. Touching her now, it put back together the pieces of him that had been missing. It clicked back into place the puzzle of Chris Redfield and remade him from the jagged mess of what he'd been.

He was only whole here. Now. Touching her.

With a small catch in the words, that broke her fucking heart inside her shell to hear it, he said, "I'm sorry. I never gave up. They..." His voice broke and he shook his head a little.

The big fucking squish, Jill thought madly, he was going to break down in front of the devil and fall apart. He was going to tug in the robot that had been her and try to hold while she killed him and Wesker laughed. She'd tried to save him and risked the world to do it once. And she saw his death now all over him.

It wasn't because he was too noble, or too dumb, or too brave. It was because he loved her too much. He loved her too much to hurt her. Happiness, her mind said, BREAK THE SPELL. But she was so afraid. So afraid. She could FEEL him touching her but it was like pressure on numb skin. It wasn't real. It wasn't enough. She couldn't get past the fear of herself to find the happiness.

She couldn't break the chains that bound her to the man behind her.

And she couldn't spill forward into the arms of the one in front of her.

The word love was there. It was there, between them, in his voice, on his face, in his eyes. It was a message on a machine replaced daily for nearly three years. It was his face on her grave with his blood and determination dripping into the dying grass. It was the shit he'd pumped into his body to be strong enough, fast enough, go far enough and be big enough to overcome anything to find her. He'd never stopped, never wavered, never given up. What had Wesker called him?

Lawful Good.

But it was more than that. So much more than that. The brilliant mind of Albert Wesker would never be able to see what was right there in front of her.

A hero.

That the thing in his pocket was called The Hercules Complex was fitting. Because he was Hercules. Half man, half hero taking on the world for the people who couldn't save themselves. Braving the pits of hell to retrieve the girl he'd loved from the clutches of the evil that possessed her. The reason why never mattered. Not to Hercules, not Chris, not to a hero…you saved the girl.

Even if she shared the bed of the monster you were trying to kill.

Her eyes watched his face, her heart tried to feel him, her body stood there like a statue.

Beyond her shoulder, Wesker watched them quietly. The look on Redfield's face fascinated him. In all his mortal life, he'd only ever looked at one thing like that; with reverence, with devotion, with an encompassing need to possess and revel in it…Uroboros. Jill Valentine was Redfield's masterpiece, his Uroboros; the thing that he would die and destroy and bring ruin to any who stood between him and its existence.

She was his new world.

And something like jealousy snaked around in Wesker's mortal guts, surprising him. Because, in his own way, he'd wanted to own her.; he'd wanted to possess her. And instead she lay passively as this pathetic fool touched her and worshipped her. She could have had a king…and she'd chosen a pawn. Love.

It was the devil's bargain.

It cost you everything to strike it. You thought it was the thing that would save you, redeem you, lift you and heal you – but it was that which burned you down, bled you dry, and left you broken and soulless.

These two fools – he would enjoy watching them die for it.

Wesker mused, "Jill is no longer the silly girl that leaped from a window like a heroine into the rainy night. She's the harbinger of my destruction. She's my weapon. My partner…if you will. I offered her the chance to be my queen in the new world…she is such a…convincing thing, isn't she? Her mummery while she pretended to choose your safety over her own. She agreed to rule beside me to spare you. She even shared my bed to guarantee it."

Jill was panicking in her head. NO. This wasn't how Chris found out. This wasn't how it went. No no. NO. And yet…she knew Wesker would enjoy hurting him. And her. And them. The bastard.

The monster.

And there it was, Wesker considered ruefully, the pain. It echoed across Redfield's face.

"She's an inventive lover, naturally. I allowed it. It amused me. And coupling is still pleasurable for my mortal shell it seems. She was so very eager. And…" He put his mouth next to her ear while she stood there, motionless, "So very MINE."

Chris dropped his hand from her face. He balled it into a fist. And for that brief moment, he saw…something…flicker in her empty eyes. Her brow furrowed. Her mouth pursed. Just a tiny bit. Just enough to tell him she wasn't entirely empty.

SHE WAS STILL HERE.

He started to step back and her hand…shot out. It grabbed his wrist. He braced for the punch or the kick or the toss she'd use against him. Wesker shifted with interest, watching them, and she didn't. She didn't throw him. Her passive, emotionless face continued to watch him…while her hand gripped his wrist.

Chris watched her face, looking for that flicker again. "I'm here. Prove him wrong, Jill. You're not his. Not mine. You're still you. Just you. Show him. Now."

Wesker laughed, delighted. "This is more fun than watching you scramble at the Spencer Mansion in the Arklay Mountains. More fun then watching you bleed out in Russia. More fun then watching Jill's face while she clutched at me and forgot anything but that pleasure between us. Oh, I wish I'd known how bad it would hurt you to see her like this. I would have let you know so much sooner."

He paced around the two of them, an artist studying his work. This was, in a way, his divine comedy after all. He'd set the pieces in play. He'd spun the web. He'd written the script. All that was left now was to watch it unfold and finish.

Chris shifted, testing. He rolled his arm over and Jill's grip slid down it. He speared their fingers together, holding.

Wesker was grinning wide and happy. "Is it wonderful to touch her again? The doll that once loved you. Does it change anything to know she's no longer yours? While you've been searching the world for her, grieving, dying and blubbering like a fool….she's been here, beside me, my toy. My treasured pet. My lover. All of her needs were met, I assure you. I seldom do anything that isn't done to perfection after all. So, she was never left wanting."

Chris watched it happen again. That flicker echoed over her face. Wesker's taunting was pushing her out of the shell more than anything. How was she bound to him? How? And how did they stop it?

Chris watched her face and answered his former Captain. He said it with such feeling, such belief, that it echoed in the huge chamber. "You're a fucking liar."

"Am I?" Wesker shrugged and turned, "Jill? Are you my lover?"

"Yes." No hesitation.

"Tell him why."

"Because I am yours."

"Yes. And I tire of this conversation. Shall we show them what we can do? Jill? Enough hand holding with this fool. Disable him. And the girl with him."

No hesitation there either. Fighting it or not, she was still under his command. She obeyed.

Just like that.

Jill straight arm jabbed Chris so hard in the chest it felt like being kicked by a horse. She flipped the heel of her hand and drove it into his sternum. He stumbled back and she kicked his legs out from under him.

Sheva rushed her and Jill kicked her from the hip, grabbed her wrist and twisted, and threw her away. As Chris grabbed for her, Jill spun a back kick into his stomach, rolled into his body, head butted him, and took his legs again.

Sheva came at her again and Jill ducked low, grabbed her around the hips, and threw her at Chris. They collapsed together into a heap on the floor.

Jill moved back to Wesker's side, patient.

Wesker smiled, rolling his neck a little. "There. This should be fun, yes? A little two on two? Those are fair odds I think. I had considered letting Jill finish you both off…but I find the need to contribute to your demise, Chris. After all…I helped create you. Seems I should help destroy you."

Sheva helped Chris up, watching his face. "What do we do?"

"Don't kill her."

Sheva looked at him in horror. "She's not Jill, anymore. Are you serious?"

"She's still, Jill. She's in there. I'll take care of him. You try to get her down and restrain her."

Sheva looked unsure…but she nodded. "Ok. I fucking hope you're right."

"That makes two of us."

Wesker grinned. He tapped his watch, looking pensive, "Seven minutes….seven minutes is all I have to play with you."

He turned, braced, and beckoned with one hand.

Jill and Sheva raced at each other in a mad bid for survival. Chris and Wesker circled each other on the stone floor.

Wesker laughed a little, "I know you have it."

"What?"

"The Hercules Complex. You have it. USE IT. And make this battle interesting."

Jill threw Sheva across the ground and turned back to them. She moved toward Chris even as her mind shouted at him to do as Wesker bid him. USE IT, she screamed at him inside herself, USE IT NOW.

Wesker lifted a hand to hold her off as her body moved to intercept Chris and dispose of him.

She stopped instead and disabled Sheva with a floor sweep and a triple kick to the stomach that sent her rolling.

Chris tugged the syringe from his pocket, rolling it in his gloved palm. "You mean this?"

"Naturally. I enjoy a fair fight after all. Use it. And show me what love is worth dying for."

Chris glanced at Jill, studying her empty face. That's what happened when something eroded everything that made you human. It left you hollow and empty…a doll. Some things weren't worth dying for.

He dropped the syringe.

It tumbled to the ground and lay there, discarded.

Wesker grinned, like the Cheshire Cat now, so terribly amused.

"You refuse?" The surprised delight in his voice was echoed in his laughter. "You refuse to even the odds? You were always such a fool Chris. But once? You were a brave one. Now? You're just a fool."

In her head, Jill was panicking so hard she was surprised her body wasn't convulsing on the ground. The idiot. The noble asshole. The fucking squish. He would let her kill him.

He was a fool.

And she was crazy for him.

Chris answered, quietly, "I don't need it. Maybe I die here. Maybe I do. That was always a possibility. Hell, it's one every day that I get up and put on the gun and go out there to fight. But I won't die enslaved to some drug like a mindless junkie. I won't die playing your fucking game your way anymore. Not anymore. And maybe it ends for me with you ripping me to pieces…but it won't be alone. I am going to take you with me. And I'll do it as a man. Just a man…who's got nothing left to lose."

Wesker laughed, thrilled. He gestured and Jill turned to block Sheva as she spun a kick at her. They grappled, two women who'd stood beside Chris Redfield and fought back the dark. The engaged in a battle of body and wills now as one served the bad guy, and the other kept on fighting for the hero.

Wesker advanced on him and Chris braced, waiting for it.

His former captain taunted, grinning. "So be it. Your future hinges upon this fight."

The kick was so fast. It was brutal. It hit and threw Chris up and out like he was nothing. Wesker kicked over two hundred pounds of pure muscle as if he were a human sized soccer ball. Chris Redfield became the muscled equivalent of a hackey sack.

Wesker shifted, kicked him, shifted again, kicked him, shifted, kicked. It was a game. It was a brutal assault. It was toying with Chris to show him what he could do. He'd teleport and appear, he'd kick him and throw him around.

The fourth time he kicked him, Chris went out, hit the door behind him, and went through it. He hit the far wall and slid down, aching, shaking. He was sore and bruised, pretty sure he had a cracked rib, and screwed. His brain said: you're fucked guy.

And he was.

He knew that.

He was at the base of a small stairwell. Narrow, it cut sharply right above him and offered a path deeper into the room where they battled. Chris limped up the stairs, staggering a little.

Behind him, Wesker taunted, "You run? A coward with a self righteous sword. Will you never learn? The hero always dies, Chris. It's how the game is played."

He staggered into the wall at the top of the stairs, glancing down the long hallway.

Torches clung to the walls, flickering light and shadow in a surreal display. But something shot through his brain, alerting him to knowledge of his enemy. Dumb he might be, but he was still trained to fight things that existed outside the naked eye. His brain tossed him something Jill had said to him as the mechanical woman: Fighting a god…is best done..in the dark.

In the DARK.

Chris lifted his hand and jerked the torch off the wall beside him. He moved forward limping on his bad left side. He lifted the torch and smacked at the hanging lanterns that dangled from the ceiling as he moved down the long hallway.

It split to the left and cut forward to a room filled with stone sarcophagi. He could hear Sheva and Jill fighting like cats and dogs where they'd been. Chris ducked into the room, put his back to the wall, and tried to breathe. He'd left the hallway behind him in shadow.

It was the best he could do.

He tossed the torch in his hand into one of the open coffins and waited in the dark.

Wesker's voice echoed in the empty tomb, "Do you hide? You can't hide forever. Will you simply wait until our time together is up? Come now, Chris. A fool you are, yes, but usually a fighter. Come out and face me…what is it they say? Like a man? Come out and face me like a man, Redfield. And die like one."

Chris peeked around the wall a little to see where he was at. He was meandering down the hallway like he had all the time in the world. Like a psycho killer in a bad horror flick, Wesker paced the hallway and seemed amused and bored. If he'd started whistling, it would have put the cap on the fun little jaunt he considered killing Chris to be.

He turned and started back the other way, "You know…Jill snuck away from me on several occasions to stare at pictures of you. It seems she thought I wasn't aware that you were still inside of her holding on to whatever piece of humanity she still clings to."

Wesker paused, considering. The shadows spilled around him as if wanting to snuggle his ugly black battlesuit and make a nest to love him. He belonged in the fucking dark. The monster.

"I knew, of course, all about it. Her desperate pining. Her secret phone calls. The video she watched of your stupid face so she could rest at night. I could never understand her need to cling to someone so…" He paused, considering, "…predictable. So common. So utterly cliché. Heroes are a dime a dozen. They are found in any sad story ever written. Always a hero, always an epic battle, always a tragic loss. This story was different…it was the loss offering a new path for the tragic heroine. She would become a goddess. She would choose to shirk the shawl of her mortal self and replace it with the wings of eternity."

Wesker sighed, studying the lay of shifting light and dark on the floor before him. "And yet she continued to cling to the derivative of Jung's Warrior archetype. So stereotypical. Like William Wallace, leading the charge of the good against the tyrant…the tyrant…shall it be noted that she was content to share her bed with us both? The archetypes continue it would see…the warrior and the tyrant king…and the girl who spread her legs for both. Most likely she will tell you a sad story about offering herself in your defense. But I watched her face, Chris, I stared into her eyes as I claimed her…as she claimed me…there was no pity there, no remorse, and no you. Pity brings her back to you, I'm afraid. And keeps her bound to you even now."

Wesker sighed and started to turn again, "It seems I should kill you and spare you that pity."

And from the shadows, "Fuck you and your pity."

The first hit rang down Chris' arm; it felt like power surged from fist to the flaming neurons in his brain, to the pathways from lungs to heart. He hooked him in the face and watched those glasses get tossed away to bounce off into the darkness. And he didn't stop.

He hooked again and threw him back the other way. He landed each blow lightning fast. Brawler fast. Training and skill and rage. It poured out of him with a shout of battle each time the hit connected. Blood flew in bright red beads turned gray in the darkness. He pummeled chest and stomach, drove a kick from the hip that spun his former captain completely around and he grabbed him like he'd break his neck.

"I should have killed you the second you opened that fucking door for an interview all those years ago. You aren't a god…gods don't bleed…and anything that bleeds can die."

A handful of seconds. A rush like nothing he'd never known. Wesker's face compressed in the bend of his arm and bicep. He could FEEL the hammer of his pulse as he closed that throat in his grip. His other hand came up and grabbed his chin and Chris jerked.

In a perfect world, he'd have broken his neck in that single swift move.

But the perfect world didn't have a puppet in it that used to be Jill Valentine.

There was the loud pop of sound.

One, two, three.

She kicked Chris three times in the back.

Wesker escaped while he fell to his face on the stone floor.

Chris watched him bend down and retrieve his glasses. And he spoke again, coldly, "Someone was a naughty girl and told you how to fight me. A shame. It means she's not yet ready to serve me like she should."

His phone jingled and Wesker opened it, listening. "Mmm. I'm on my way."

He clicked off and turned. Sheva shouted, "Wesker STOP!"

And Jill spun back to kick the shit out of her.

Chris got to his feet, stumbling a little. But he raised his gun on Wesker. "You aren't leaving. This party just got started."

"I'm afraid I really must run. But I'll leave Jill here to…keep the party rolling." Wesker snorted at his own joke and moved out of the long hallway.

Chris gave chase with Sheva behind him.

Jill jumped. Although jumped wasn't the right word exactly. She took flight in a whipping arch and landed between them. She spun back and kicked Sheva in the face, spun low and took her feet, and threw her leg up and back and hit her so hard in the solar plexus that Sheva was thrown out at least four feet onto her back.

Chris threw a hook at her for all the good it would do. He hadn't been able to hit her mortal. He wasn't going to be able to hit her with whatever was making her super human. She ducked under his arm, punched him in the face, rolled his arm up and went across his back, and kicked him in the back of the knee.

It drove him to the floor while she mounted him, drove her knee into his side, and jerked his arm up into a compression lock on his shoulder. She twisted, to prove she could break it without even trying, and he shouted at her, "JILL! WAKE UP!"

Wesker, amused, turned to call the elevator behind him. "Jill, kill him."

She shifted and jerked Chris' knife, her own former knife, from his belt.

And Chris tried one last time, "Don't! Jill! It's me! You're still there, I can FEEL you! JILL VALENTINE!"

Something in her brain hit her system like lightning. Her body gasped. And her memory fired through the center of the drug in her system like a bullet from a gun.

"WHO'S THE WINNER NOW?!"

She was in the center of the baseball field, doing the victory dance. The homerun, it seemed, was hers.

She whooped and simulated humping the bat between her legs. And then she dropped it and started running the bases.

She made it all the way to third and figured out he was behind her. Dog woofed with happiness, she spun back, and he scooped her up. Laughing like mad, she anchored herself around his front while he ran the rest of the way to home plate.

"You idiot! You just helped me win!"

"Worth it. I'd help you kill me too if it meant you keep laughing like that."

Touched, she leaned back to look at his face. "A helluva thing to say, Redfield."

"And feel. I can't do anything but FEEL you…Jill Valentine."

And she was that.

She WAS Jill Valentine.

She was NOT Albert Wesker's toy.

She dropped the knife. She staggered away. Her body was hers again. She could feel herself.

Wesker was half on the elevator and paused. He held the doors open with the flat of his hand, watching her.

Jill jerked open the battlesuit she wore. She grappled at the thing on her chest. The fucking scarab. She didn't care if she fractured her entire sternum getting it off her. She was going to CLEAVE it from her flesh and her soul. NOW.

She gasped, "Chris…run! RUN! Hurry! Get the Hercules Complex! INJECT yourself! Hurry!"

Wesker, amused, stood in the light of the elevator. "Remarkable….resisting at such an advanced stage. It shows the power you possess, Jill, and makes it such a loss that you were nothing but stupid and mortal under it all. Impressive. But futile. Have fun killing each other."

He opened the phone in his hand and clicked something.

"You son of a BITCH! I'm not your fucking play thing anymore!"

Jill moved. She kicked him. She kicked him so hard and he didn't even think to stop her. The phone flew into the elevator, Wesker went staggering into the wall, and the doors snapped shut on him.

Jill spun back. Chris grabbed her and threw her into the wall beside the elevator so hard it stole her breath.

He put the muzzle of his gun to her forehead.

And she gasped, "YES! Do it! Hurry! HURRY! Before he hits the button! Now! Now! Chris, now!"

Her fingers curled into his shirt. Her face was wet. Blood?

No.

Tears.

Her breathing was ragged. She was gasping with it. "Chris! Why are you hesitating?! DO IT! Please!"

She opened her tightly shut eyes.

She was nodding so fast, furious. "Please…I'll hurt you. I'll kill you. I can't do it. I can't do it, Chris. Just shoot me. Please…please…ok? Now. Just s-"

He didn't. He didn't shoot her.

He threw his gun away and hugged her.

It clattered to the floor, his hands caught her face, and she surged up into him. It was so desperate. It so fast. Her arms curled around him, where they could, he was just SO BIG. It was insane.

She wept madly while she hugged him. He shifted and picked her up from the floor, feet dangling. He pressed her into the wall and held her there. It was, without a doubt, the best hug between two people that had probably ever happened.

Sheva froze, watching them. She wasn't a romantic, not by any means, but she couldn't stand there and not be touched by it.

This was what haunted Chris Redfield. THIS. It shimmered around them so painfully you couldn't stand there and not feel it with them.

The girl who'd loved him so much she'd gone out a window. The boy who'd torn the world apart to find her. And the man who stood between pulling them toward their inevitable demise. A showdown where they'd be forced to kill each other.

No happy ending.

Just death.

No peaceful poison for these star crossed lovers, this modern day perverted version of Romeo and Juliet didn't offer any solace in death for them. They would die painfully, in fire and blood, cleaving while they clung to the other and destroyed where they touched.

It was so brutally sad that it resonated, echoing through the stone chamber where they stood – enraptured with each other and forsaken with it.

He finally shifted his face to kiss the tears on her cheeks.

And Jill kept on weeping, clinging to him. Their foreheads pressed together. Her hands grabbed at his biceps. "I'll kill you...Chris, Chris...please. Don't let me kill you. Stop me...please...please..."

Her pain, his, it killed where it touched. It destroyed. And it came from his mouth in a ragged whisper, "I don't care."

Jill shifted her grip to his face, stroking, clinging."You're so stupid..stupid. Idiot. Dumbass. Get the complex. Please. I can't kill you. Don't let me. Don't."

"I won't let go, Jill. Ever again. Ever."

Her heart ached. Her mouth breathed, "I will kill you if you don't."

"I've been dead every minute of every day you were gone. I don't care, Jill. Not anymore."

Her heart. It wanted to be happy. It wanted to be happy to hear that, to feel it, to feel HIM. But it was afraid. And as long as she was afraid, he wasn't SAFE. "You stupid man. Why won't you just run!? Just run. Run."

"No. Never again. Some things are worth dying for."

"Not me, Chris. Not me. I never was."

"Who's the dumb one now, Valentine?"

She laughed, so brokenly, so lost. And it broke his fucking heart to heart it.

"Leave me here and go, Chris. Just go."

He shook his head, curled around her like they'd blend into one skin and merge. She didn't just cling, she absorbed.

Sheva saw the moment it didn't matter anymore.

And she hurt for him. For them both.

Because the weeping thing in his arms, clinging and trying so hard to hold on, drew back and head butted him instead.

He let go, staggering. Jill cartwheeled away, smiling, eyes dead and cold.

She beckoned them with one hand, turned, and leaped over the railing behind her. She plummeted two floors down to the foyer without breaking a sweat or a bone.

Sheva grabbed his arm. "Are you alright?"

Chris shook his head, taking three slow breaths. "No. But I'm not dead. And we have to get that damn thing off her."

"I agree. How?"

"I don't know. Hurt her but don't kill her. She's in there. She came back once. She'll come back again. Let's hold her down and try to wait it out."

Sheva nodded, watching his face. "Roger. You ready?"

He watched Jill laugh and twirl like a maddened monster. The red scarab on her chest pulsed with light. What was in it? Would removing it cure her? Would it kill her?

He didn't know.

The only thing he did know?

He wasn't going to stop until she was free of it.

And he was ready to die to see it happen.

He was never letting go again.


	35. Chapter 35

XXXV: What's Worth Dying For

:::::::::::::Thirty-Five::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 –– 10:32 p.m.

The battle for the soul of Jill Valentine was endless.

It had started in a cold city over a decade before. It had raged and waged between two opposing forces for so long that there was no more time to idly wonder when she'd edged toward the evil that permeated her every move. The only truth that remained was that she wasn't lost, not yet, not until he was dead.

Not until they were six feet under and pushing up daisies.

He was going to GET HER BACK.

And he would not stop until he did.

Sweaty, exhausted, Sheva collapsed against the stairs. She was breathing so hard it was like she'd run ten miles in the middle of a summer afternoon on the Serengeti. The sticky salt of the perspiration slid down her brow and into one eye as she watched them circle each other.

He never…hit her.

Never once.

He had all those muscles and he never hit her. She beat the living piss out of both of them. And he never hit her. He caught her, he tossed her, and he held her down and jerked on that damn thing on her chest. He shouted, he cooed, he called. He never hit her.

It was infuriating.

It was noble as fuck.

It was going to get them killed.

Sheva eyed the syringe on the floor between them. If she took it, could she stop Jill Valentine?

She had no way of knowing if the dosage was aimed at him. If it was too much for body composition, she could kill herself taking it.

But what if she shot him up with it?

Would it work?

Would he finally grab Valentine and restrain her and stop her?

They were running out of time. Whatever Jill was on, she wasn't tiring. She wasn't stopping. Sh was fucking with them. She was inhuman. She was slapping them stupid and winning.

Enough of this hero shit, Sheva avowed, it was time to put this bitch down.

She pulled her pistol and rose from the stairs.

In the center of the long hallway, Jill Valentine was studying him while he held his hands out before him, showing himself unarmed.

"It's me, Chris. It's me, Jill. You know me. It's me. Come back to me. Just try. Shake it loose. Come back to me."

She laughed and raced at him.

He braced, she spun threw a back kick at him, he caught her leg and kept her spinning. With her back to him, he bound her arms and pulled her into him. He put his mouth to her struggling ear while she fought the hold. "Jill Valentine. I know you're here. I know it. Listen to me. It's me…Chris. It's me, Jill."

She went still. It was the first time she'd gone still in so long. His muscles trembled, her breathing was erratic. She gasped and shivered, "….help me." It was dragged between her teeth. It hissed. It hurt them both for her to say it.

He put his face against her neck, rubbing. "I'm trying. I'm trying. Tell me what to do, Jill. Please."

Jill jerked, jerked, and grunted, "Get it off me! HURRY!"

Sheva stood in front of her. She lifted the gun.

Chris shouted in denial but Jill? She shouted over him, "DO IT!" At the same time he roared, "SHEVA DON'T!"

And the pretty girl that had been so loyal to him lifted that pistol and fired.

Jill flopped in his arms, screaming. The device on her chest took the hit, sparked, spilled smoke and pain into the air around them, and sizzled like bacon on a grill. Jill roared her anger. She threw her head back at him, forcing him to let go to avoid a broken nose, and she spun around to take him out.

Chris ducked, rolled, and missed losing the rest of his head to her driving leg. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and jerked him off his feet. She lifted him clear like he weighed nothing and shook him like a rag doll.

Like he was damnit doll put there for her frustration.

Like he wasn't layers and layers of enormous muscle.

It was insane.

She threw him into the wall so hard it cracked from the toss. Rock and stone rained down around him as he tumbled. And his body had made an impression in the wall.

Christ.

He was lucky his fucking back wasn't broken.

Jill spun back and Sheva punched her so hard in the face that Chris actually winced from it.

Jill's mouth flew with beads of blood. She backhanded Sheva for the effort of it and kicked her twice in the stomach. As she spun back to finish her off, Chris pushed off the wall and tackled her.

Jill grunted, he took them both to the floor, and she reared up to headbutt him. It glanced off his cheek as he shot his head to the side and pinned her hands over her head to hold her down. She fought him, humping her hips but he collapsed all his weight on her and held her there.

"JILL! You want this mother fucker off you!? HOLD STILL!"

Like she'd listen.

But she kinda did.

She gasped, shaking on the floor. The device was crackling like a bad connection. It sounded as if it were bursting with white noise. It hissed and popped.

His gloved hand slid around it, he wedged his fingers under it as far as it would go. It was hot. It burned. It had to be searing into her. His fingers told him it was pinned to her flesh in no less than four places.

He held her angry eyes and jerked. He gave it everything he had. She bowed. She bucked. She screamed and fought. She flopped and roared. The device burned them both. His hand protested the heat. The pain crackled up his arm to his shoulder. And it finally got a cry from him for the effort.

It sparked tears of pain in his eyes but, by god, he kept on yanking. He wanted to let go so bad. But he'd promised. Never again. So he just kept holding on and hurting them both.

It was insane.

It was.

Because the second he made that sound of pain….Jill stopped struggling.

She went placid. And the empty blue of her eyes bled out in pain. Her hands shifted where he held her down. They slid and cupped and held.

And she was soaked in sweat, gasping, and nodding.

"You wuss. I'm gonna tell everyone you cried."

He laughed a little, brokenly, and it killed her. She shimmered under her own skin, aching. She gasped, shaking, "Don't. Don't cry. You big squish. Don't."

He jerked again. She bowed in pain and he shook his head. "What if taking it off kills you?"

Her eyes opened, all her, all her….for now. "Then it kills me. I'd rather be dead then his puppet, Chris. Please. Before I can't control it anymore."

Chris jerked so hard that it stole her breath. It was nothing but pain now. Horrid. She felt the device try to crack her damn clavicle. She screamed.

And the P30 ripped her back down into the dark.

She whipped her legs up like he wasn't sitting on her. She hooked them over him and humped, throwing him back and away. He rolled, missing losing his face to her scissors kick, and Sheva raced in.

Jill spun into a hurricane kick, knocked the other woman around, and hooked her arm over her head. Chris watched her set Sheva up for a reverse neck breaker. He was out of options here.

He shouted, "JILL! JILL VALENTINE!"

She turned and he shot her.

He shot Jill in the chest.

The horror of it stole his breath. It was a handful of seconds.

It was a thousand years.

The device took the hit, Sheva fell out of her grip, and Jill's scream echoed in the cavernous room. Sheva tackled her from the floor, took her to her face, pinned her arms in against her body and jerked them both to their knees.

She held on while Chris crouched down, grabbed the device, and started jerking like he'd rip her heart out of her chest with it. She fought, he put his free hand around her throat and held her still, and he just kept yanking. Sheva lost control of one arm, Jill reached for his face, and Sheva slapped her upside the head so hard it echoed.

She bound the arm again, Chris gave her a long suffering look, and she said, "What? Enough is enough of this shit, Chris. Your girlfriend is mean as piss. I'm done letting her kick my ass."

It was almost amusing.

Almost.

Jill threw a reverse head-butt, Sheva rolled away, and she grabbed Chris from the floor. He missed the forward butt she tried to get him with, cross armed Jill over the collarbone, and slung her out and away. She rolled, leaped to her feet, and ran for it.

Chris gestured, "Box her in. I have an idea."

Sheva chased Jill into the long hallway and Chris ran up the stairs.

Jill picked up her machine gun from the floor beside a sarcophagus. Sheva paused, watching her. She called, "Jill! Don't be stupid. I will kill you if you try that again."

Hell, they'd barely survived the first run of it. She'd kept firing on them until Chris had tossed a damn flash bang and they'd been able to get her to drop the machine gun. Sheva lifted her pistol. Jill turned to face her.

Sheva tried once more, "Don't do it, Jill. Drop the gun."

Jill opened fire.

Sheva threw herself behind a stone coffin. She heard the bullets hit and throw chunks into the air. Jill laughed, firing like a mad woman. Jesus, Chris was stupid as hell. Even if they got the damn thing off her, what were the chances she'd survive it or even that she'd be herself anymore?

It was all going to come down to them or her. That's just the way it was.

The gunfire eased off, Sheva peeked around the tomb where she hid, and Jill was looking down at her.

With the machine gun right in her face.

Sheva opened her mouth, Jill grinned wide and horrible, and a whistle drew her attention.

The gunshots echoed. Loud. So loud in the narrow stone passageway.

Jill's body jerked, once, twice, three times. She staggered back, the device shot sparks and screeched painfully, and she fell sideways into the coffin. Sheva rolled to her feet and Chris hurried over.

Sheva queried, "What if you'd missed?"

"I don't miss." No arrogance. Just truth.

Jill was flopping and screaming in the coffin. He climbed in with her. He bound her hands behind her back with one of his and grabbed the device. It was a mess on her chest. The red scarab was shattered and dripping something gross and blue down her skin into her cleavage. It was sparking like mad now, sizzling and popping and burping.

Chris jerked her up into him, wedged his whole hand under the shattered, burning mess of it and started yanking. She screamed. Oh, god, it made the hair on Sheva's neck stand up. She screamed and fought. She kicked uselessly while he dangled her in his grip. When her legs jerked too much, he pinned them between his own to hold her.

There was a crunching sound coming from where he was jerking the device now. The thing? Or her bones? Sheva was afraid to ask.

Jill tried to headbutt him and he shouted at her, "STOP! You bitch! Stop trying to hit me! Help me or I will fucking knock you out and do it anyway. HELP ME JILL!"

She jerked, gasping.

He let go of her bound arms and her hands flew up. Sheva braced to stop her from hitting him. But she didn't. She grabbed his wrist in her hands. His arm looped around her back and pulled her into him. She put her face in his neck and jerked on his wrist.

She screamed while she helped him yank the damn thing bound to her body.

There was a pop, a hiss, a crackling burst of flame that burned so badly he finally tossed the melting glove from his skin and he gave it one finally pull. Jill jerked with him. It was like watching a bloody metal tick let go of its prey.

The looping legs popped, squirted blood, and came out of her body. She bowed, her hands grabbed for his face and held on, and he peeled it off her to toss it away.

When it was gone, his arms looped around her body. He lifted her completely off the floor into his body. Jill made a small sound of pain and remorse and pressed her ruined chest into him.

Sheva lowered her weapon, breathing hard and fast. She finally sat down on the floor with a defeated and tired huff of breath.

They tried to hug like they'd shift flesh and bone and find the other one inside it. He kept murmuring, "It's ok. It's ok. It's ok."

Jill turned his face to her. His was wet. She whispered, "Big wuss."

"….it's sweat."

"Whatever."

"Are you ok?"

She opened her eyes. He scanned her face. God, her face. She was so different. She was still Jill.

She was just Jill.

There was no more Albert Wesker inside of her.

And she said, "I can't feel him in me anymore. I just feel you. Just you. You big baby."

His breathless laugh was echoed by hers. Their foreheads aligned, clinging. He whispered, "I didn't let go."

"….I know. Me either. Ever. I tried to keep him away from you. I tried. I screwed up so bad. I'm so sorry."

He was already shaking his head. His hands shifted and skimmed her face, scooped her sweaty hair back, "No sorry. No sorry. What did I tell you? No more sorry here, Jill Valentine. Just now. Jill…I couldn't find you. They said I was crazy. I wasn't crazy. You were here. You were right here."

"Redfield…you idiot. You are such an idiot. You should have let me go."

He laughed again and they realized they were both on their knees now, just clinging. He breathed, "I don't know how to let go of you, Jill. I never have."

She nudged him face to her, rubbed their mouths together, and whispered, "Me either…you big idiot."

From the floor, Sheva coughed.

Jill let him go to roll her head toward the girl. "I'm so sorry. I was still aware. I'm so so sorry. I'd have killed me. I'm sorry."

Sheva laughed a little, blowing out a long breath. "Not your fault. His fault over there. Since he was convinced you were still you. Apparently he was right. But I wish it hadn't gotten the shit kicked out of me to prove it."

Chris let go and they rose with his hands on Jill to steady her. Her chest was pretty ugly but looked mostly shallow and superficial. She staggered a little and he scooped her up in his arms like a baby.

Amused, annonyed, Jill eyed him. "I'm ok, big hero. Set me down."

He smiled at her…and then he trembled and ruined it. Big hero. Big muscled mountain. Big SQUISH. He trembled.

She put her head on his shoulder for just a moment before he set her down. And then she said, "We don't have time to stand here getting gooshy. We have a narrow wind of time to stop him. Go. You two? Go after him. And stop him."

Horrified, Chris eyed, "You're not serious."

"I am."

They locked eyes. His lit with twin blue flames of rage. "This place is coming down around your ears. I just got you back. I'm not LEAVING YOU HERE!"

Lord.

He shouted.

It echoed.

Sheva jumped.

Jill stared at him.

And she stepped into him. His arms curled around her. Hers slid around his waist. She held on, breathing. She felt the shiver of the need to let go. She wanted to cry. She wanted to never let go. And she breathed, against his huge chest, "You're not leaving me. I'm ok now. I can't go on. I'm too weak. But you can, Chris. You have to. You're the only one who can…don't you trust your partner?"

He shook his head, holding on, "I'm not leaving you again, Jill. No. Come with us. Now. Come with us now."

She lifted her head to meet his eyes. He looked so afraid at the idea that she'd stay behind. She soothed him, stroking his face now. "I'll get out. I promise. But I can't fight on. I'm shaking where I stand. I know my limits, Chris. Taking away the P30 has made me too weak. I won't make it."

Sheva glanced at the syringe. She shifted toward it.

Chris shook his head again, "I will not leave you. Ever. So, either we both go on, or we both go back."

"You can't let him get away, Chris. Not now. Not anymore. This is it. This is our time. This is our moment. It's the moment we've been fighting for since Raccoon City. It's here. It's NOW. You can't let him get away. Uroboros…it's global. It's world ending. You can't let him do it. Otherwise everything we've ever fought for has been for nothing."

They held eyes. The girl and the boy who'd stood together in the beginning. The girl and the boy who'd stood together in the end. The girl and the boy who'd stood on opposite sides of a great divide and tried so hard to find the other.

And he said, quietly, "I don't care about any of that. I didn't come here to save the world. I came here…for you."

Her heart. HER HEART. It bled. It pulsed. It healed. It was the wrong answer.

It was the RIGHT answer.

It was the only one she'd ever wanted.

And it was her in the rain in Terragrigia. Her in the rain telling him she'd risk it all for him. And him…HIM…horrified and lost. Don't you understand, Jill, you can't choose me over the world? You can't choose what you want over what is right.

She watched it echo on his face. Her hands came up. They framed that face. Age had made him gorgeous. It had stripped away the boyish good looks and imbued him with a gruffness, a roughness, a toughness that permeated and perpetuated and spilled like blood around him, red and thick and beautiful. His face, she craved the devotion on it. She craved the love on it. It was so pure. It was so simple.

It was so wrong.

She breathed, "You can't choose me over the world, Chris."

And he answered, "There is no world without you, Jill. Don't you understand that? I was wrong. All those years ago? I was WRONG. There is no me without you. There is no ME without YOU. I don't care about the rest of it. Let it burn. I won't leave you again. He was right. He was always right. You're my weakness. The only thing I won't trade. I don't care about Wesker or Uroboros or the end of the world. Let it end. Because for the first time since I lost you, I can FEEL you. And I don't care about anything else."

Jesus.

She shook her head, shaking in his arms. The right answers. The wrong answers. The right MAN.

He'd always been right for her.

From the moment he'd sat down in the chair beside her. To this moment now. To the first kiss and the moment she laughed and each second they'd been apart. The right man.

Willing to trade the world for her.

She breathed, "Chris Redfield is a hero. The hero saves the world. You have to save the world, Chris. You're the only one who can."

His face was so calm. His face was so stoic. He answered, "I will not leave you. Ever again."

And the devotion stole her breath. It left her throbbing. And it healed her in ways she couldn't understand. But it was going to get them all killed.

Then Sheva remarked, "I have a solution."

Jill turned her head, "We're running out of time. You two need to go now. Please, Chris. PLEASE. Don't let him get away."

But his face said he wasn't budging.

Big loyal idiot.

The world was ending because he was sticking to her like glue.

Big loyal squish.

She was insane for him.

Sheva said, "I will tag Josh. I will get an evac set up. But you have to go on. He's right. YOU have to end, Wesker. Both of you. Together. And THIS," She raised the syringe with the Hercules Complex, "…is how."

Jill nodded, "Good. Yes. Give it to him. Maybe it will change his stupid mind."

Sheva shook her head. She laughed a little. "Stupid is a relative term. And it's not for him."

"What?"

Chris said tonelessly, "It's for you."

Jill shook her head, "No. What?"

And Sheva grabbed her hair.

Jill gasped, Sheva crammed the plunger into her neck and filled her full of the heavy fluid. She trembled weakly and shook. Chris held on, so calm, so resolute.

The weakness washed away. It burst from her mouth in a cry. She shook like a leaf and then stood still as her senses doubled. It was the P30 without the control element. It was adrenaline with the added bonus of feeling like she had gold in her veins. It was life. Love. Fucking. Flying. Amazing.

She grabbed him, holding on while Sheva radioed Josh.

Chris queried, "You're sure, Sheva? You can come with us."

Sheva shook her head, "I'll wait for Josh and we'll make our way to the other side of the mountain. Past the shipyard is the evac point. Meet us there once you stop him."

Chris nodded sagely, "Copy that. Thank you, Sheva. For everything."

"No thanks. Just don't fuck it up. Finish it and let's burn this boneyard to the ground."

"Deal."

He glanced down at Jill. She was watching him with owl eyes. He watched her pupils dilate and respond. He watched her feel it. She breathed, and she grinned. "Lord."

"Oh, yeah. It's good stuff."

She nodded, shaking a little. "I want to fight, fuck, and take on the world. It's a crazy feeling."

Laughing, Chris let her go. She stood easily, no trembling or weakness. And then she picked up her machine gun from the floor and loaded it. She grinned, "Now, let's go find his ass and see if a god can die. The best way to stop him is in that fucking case Excella always carries. It's his serum. If he doesn't get enough, if he gets too much…the effects are the same. He'll be weak. He'll be as close to human as he'll ever get. Human, Wesker is an ass pain but I can fight him. I can stop him. I'm going to watch him die with my hands around his throat."

Chris joined her on the elevator. Sheva raised her hand in farewell, and the doors closed.

They locked eyes as it raised. They held eyes as it lifted.

She breathed, "I miss Dog."

It stole his breath. He closed his eyes and breathed. They both stood there in the silence for a moment. The grief slid between them, heavy and painful. He whispered, "Me too. I...I buried him in your grave. So...he's never alone. So...maybe you'd feel him. Just a little."

Her breath hitched. She took two long swallows of air. Her heart ached so badly it was going to break and kill her. She was certain of that.

And she said, "You have a son."

His answer was cool and easy, "I do."

They couldn't look away from each other. She didn't want to. The hand not holding her machine gun slid over and looped to his. His glove was scratchy on her skin. She whispered, "I want to meet him. I saw him. He looks like you...maybe not as fat."

He didn't laugh like she'd hoped. He looked so stricken.

Something flickered on his face. Some kind of pain she didn't have a name for. He spoke; his voice broke and stole her heart, "I'm so sorry."

Jill shook her head. She shook it twice. She lifted his hand and kissed the back of his glove. He opened it and cupped her face. And she said, "For what? He's beautiful. He's so beautiful. Don't be sorry for that. I'm so happy you have him. You should have lots of children, Chris. Lots and lots and lots."

And the grief in his voice almost killed her where she stood, "I didn't want him. I didn't want to keep him."

A hell of a thing to say. She watched his grieving face, looking for the reason behind the pain. "You have to keep him. He's yours. Why would you turn him away? Your heart is so big and wide. You can't do anything but love. Why would you deny yourself that love?"

His answer...it tried to break her. It tried to take her breath. It made her grieve so hard for the time they'd lost and the pain they'd survived and the hours she couldn't get back. The kisses, the hugs, the holding. She hadn't been there for Dog. For Chris. For his pain and his loss and his hopelessness. His heart break and his grief. She'd been here, dying, and so lost. Burning, embroiled in an affair with the devil.

And Chris was trying to learn how to love a child...the child he didn't want to love because..."He's not yours."

Her eyes lifted to his face. They held. They couldn't stop holding. It killed her. She loved him so much. She wasn't sure anymore where she ended and he began...but they were one. One. Twin souls, they couldn't even exist without the other. And he felt like he was betraying her to love a child that hadn't come from her body.

It was humbling and so fucking sad. And she didn't want the sad. Not anymore. She wanted the love. And him. And his son.

She wanted his son to be her son.

She answered, firm and strong, "He will be. If you want him to be. He will be. I want him. You hear me? I want him. And you."

He turned, she turned, and their arms slid around each other. They clung, breathing the other in. They rocked together, clinging. And he whispered, "I love you, Jill. I'm so sorry about everything. I love you. I can't do anything but that. I love you."

She had to tell him. She had so much to tell him. She whispered, "Wesker...he and I..."

He shook his head, holding on. "Not now. Later...not now. Just...not now."

Not now. She didn't want there to be an ever. She never wanted to admit it. She never wanted him to look at her and know. He knew. They knew. It was there. But not now.

Now was for them.

Not for Wesker.

His time was coming.

She wanted to tell him she couldn't give him any more children. She wanted to ask him to love her, no matter what, always, even though she'd betrayed everything they believed in to share the devil's bed. Would he still love her when it was all out there? When she told him the whole of it, would he still want her? She was afraid to know the answer. She was afraid she wasn't enough for him anymore. Unable to take away the past, unable to offer him a future...what was worth holding on to?

The elevator pinged and the doors opened. They turned to face them, guns raised. And there was no more time for confessions.

There was no more time to hurt and heal and hold on.

There was no more time to do anything but hunt the devil….one last time.

And the only question left...was what was worth dying for.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: A long time in the making. I'm aiming for shorter, sweeter, lighter chapters to make it easier reading here. So, that may mean MORE chapters. But that's ok. A little bit of lightening up the DARK this story has become. It needs it.

In the coming chapters - the end of the man in the glasses. It's time. He GOTS TO GO! Haha.

Thank you for all the support. Enjoy.

Slainte.

….

XXXVI: How to Speak Geek – How to kill a God – How to be a Hero

:::::::::::::Thirty-Six::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 –– 11:00 p.m.

The spread of the sky was nothing but darkness and obscure shadow. There was no moon here. No starlight. No spilling suggestion of a pretty portrait where wishes were made and dreams came true.

The sky was filthy black and endless.

A fitting sky for a final battle against the devil.

The seventh pit of hell, after all, was likely bathed in blackness and regret.

For Chris Redfield, the regret felt like fire in his bones. The phoenix, he'd once called himself, and he'd risen from the ashes of his own failure to save the girl at his side. She was there. She was HERE. They were about to face the man who'd stolen their future, who'd tainted their past, who'd plagued their present. But the regret was cloying between them.

Because even in his death, they couldn't get back what they'd lost.

Was there truth to the things she'd said under the influence of the P30? Was she "Wesker's"? The bastard had seemed so certain. He'd seemed so convinced. Chris had freed her from the drug in her body….had he simply traded one poison for another? Would she secretly covet Albert Wesker for the rest of her days? Would some part of her always yearn to be at his side?

Would she one day look at Chris and feel the fires of regret?

Regret.

It was, indeed, their poison.

I want you, she'd said, and your son. He held that to him now like a mantra. Like a promise. Like a whisper of hope in the ugly dark.

It worked.

Because for the first time in so long…he felt like Chris Redfield again.

Why?

Because he had JILL VALENTINE beside him.

"Look! Son of a fucking bitch! He's RIGHT THERE!"

Jill raced to the edge of the railing on the lookout where they found themselves. She shouted into the dark as if the man so far away could hear her. "WESKER! STOP!"

Wesker was crossing the deck of a huge cruiser ship at the dock down below. Even if they ran, they'd never get him before he was beyond their sight line. They moved anyway.

They hurried, taking the stairs two at a time.

The metal clanged beneath the boots as they moved. The dark rumbled, threatening a storm. It didn't matter, Jill mused, let it come. The storm was good. Maybe it would wash away some of the rage that blistered her skin with each breath.

They leaped down from the rise onto the deck of the ship.

The few straggling Majini that attempted to stop them met a quick demise. Jill was merciless and with the Hercules Complex in her blood, she was also unstoppable. Chris was barely needed in the battle.

The years with Wesker had clearly been spent training.

She moved like water. She moved like a goddess of the hunt. She was effortless in her ability to destroy. The gun in her hands was really unnecessary.

She killed like a predator.

Maybe like THE predator.

He glanced around to see if Arnold Schwarzenegger was going to pop out at some point to fight her.

They hurried over the ship deck, racing between shipping containers that dipped and swayed with the rocking movement of the vessel beneath them. Rain began to pepper, falling in a shimmery curtain around them. It was gentle, caressing even as it tickled.

Chris picked off two guards walking a narrow line between two watch towers high above them. Their bodies fell soundlessly into the tossing waves that waited beneath. Jill engaged three men in hand to hand combat without breaking a sweat.

He waited, watching her move. She dropped, she kicked, she rolled and rose again. She was fluid. Poetry in motion or something. That blonde hair was a whip around her as she went.

Long, it graced her butt as she fought. She'd bound it tightly to her skull in a tight French braid. Unbound, he wondered what it would look like. She'd always been dead set on short hair. She looked like a Barbie doll. Like Barbie does Bondage or something, he thought with a little laugh, she was Badass Barbie.

And he was just amusing himself while she did all the work.

With a chuckle, Chris moved down the stairs toward her.

Jill glanced over after breaking the neck of the last man circling her. She grinned at him. "All those muscles for show, Redfield? You still let the girls do all the work?"

He opened his mouth to give her shit and her eyes shifted, subtly, to his right.

He turned and got one arm up.

And it was "all those muscles" that saved him a broken jaw.

The big fat fist of his attacker hit his forearm instead. It hurt like hell. It made a small popping sound. Concerned that it was broken, Chris still got his gun up under the swinging arm of the fat man in question. He ducked, missed losing his face to the next blow, and fired his pistol twice into the sternum of the big fat man.

The man jerked, bled, grunted, and tried to head butt him.

Chris reeled back, kicked him in the knee, and shot him three times in the face while he staggered.

The fat man roared, put his gushing face down, and charged like a bull.

Chris braced for it, realized too late he was at the edge of the fucking stairs, and the fat man hit him full on. He lost his footing, he went backward with the force of it, and hit his back on the deck with the fat man atop him. It cost him all his air, most of his fight, and his gun as it skittered from his fist and across the metal with a squeal of sound.

Jill whistled as the fat man reared up to drive his big fist into his fallen opponent's face and she took the top of his head off with the enormous sniper rifle in her hands.

The heavy round obliterated from forehead to lip. It left a canoe where his face had been. The fat man teetered. The fat man tottered. The fat man fell down.

Right atop Chris.

Chris grunted, stuck between the deck and the dead body.

The fat ass probably weighed at least five hundred pounds.

Jill's face appeared above him, smiling a little.

"Who's the sandwich now?" She taunted, grinning.

Maybe she'd been Wesker's. Maybe that was true. But that kind of joke? That was all Jill. It was all HIS Jill. And he had to laugh, even trapped beneath the dead like he was. He had to laugh.

And then?

She pulled the fat body right off him like it weighed nothing.

"Here, muscles, let me help you up." She pulled him to his feet while he gave her a deadpan expression. She shifted a little toward him and gripped his forearm, "Quit pouting like that and tell me when it hurts."

Her hands checked his arm. It was tender but ok. He didn't even wince, like the tough he-man he was, when she found the sore point at the elbow. But he wanted to.

But he DIDN'T.

So it was a win.

Jill lifted her eyes to his face, "Ok? You think it's fractured?"

He shook his head and the rain dripped down his shaggy hair into the line of his brows. Thick, dark, they made the hard slope of his nose seem perfect and rugged. She watched a bead of it drip off the tip of that nose and wanted to lick it.

That's right, Jill mused, and she wanted to lick his nose.

The drug in her body was the weirdest thing she'd ever been on.

Including the P30.

Chris said, "It's tender. But I think it's ok. It popped. But that might have been the elbow pad."

Her fingers eased up his arm a little. They skimmed the elbow pad and pressed gingerly along his biceps. It was unlikely, she speculated, that the fat man would have hurt him if he'd punched him in the upper arm. Steel. He was rock solid. There was NO GIVE whatsoever when she pressed on him.

And her brain giggled.

She did NOT giggle.

But her brain giggled….a little.

Jill wondered aloud now, "Tell me you haven't been shooting up or something."

Surprise flickered over his face.

And then he grinned a little. "No steroids. Why does everyone ask that? It was the Hercules Complex…kinda. But I kicked that. Otherwise? ME. Just me. You don't like it?"

Jill rolled her eyes a little at him. Her hand dropped and she laughed. "No flirting, Red. Seriously. You're awful at it."

"Was I flirting?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was standing there in the pouring rain. He was HUGE. Jesus it took her breath away. In it, she could see the shadow of the skinny guy she'd met all those years ago. He was still there. In all that muscle.

And he'd SUCKED at flirting too.

Because, he hadn't bothered to flirt at all. He'd just told it like it was.

Jill smiled a little, "They say roids shrink your gonads."

His brows shot up into his hair. Her grin got a little bigger. "Seriously. And make you hairy."

Chris' teeth flashed a little. He crossed the deck to pass by her. She studied him a little. "What? No reubuttal?"

He just laughed.

She watched him move and considered the benefits of the muscles. Admittedly, his ass was –

Again, her mind said, how is this relevant? It wasn't. None of it was. It felt REALLY GOOD to think it. It was almost breathtaking how good it felt to just be her again. No playacting, no pretending, no faking or lying or subterfuge. She wasn't a slave. She wasn't a puppet. She wasn't a prisoner. She was a PARTNER.

She was HIS PARTNER again.

He had cleared the door into the first chamber of the ship. The room was empty save for a couple of tanks with flowers in them. Progenitor, no doubt, based on the composition and the similarity to the ones he and Sheva had found in the underground garden.

Why were they keeping them here?

Lowering his pistol, Chris tapped lightly on the glass that bubbled and suspended the flowers in some kind of goop or liquid. What was the purpose of it? To keep them alive? To keep them suspended in a constant state of productivity?

Murmuring, he added, "I'm a doctor, Jim, not a scientist." An homage to Bones and Star Trek felt good. God. When was the last time he'd JOKED? It almost hurt coming out of him.

The rest of the small lab was littered with papers scribbled with nerd lingo. Chris squinted one eye, trying to find anything he understood in the ramblings. He flipped papers and recognized little of what was written save for the internal meanderings of a scientist talking about "vegetative states" and "organic response". Rolling his eyes, wondering why nerds couldn't just leave a layman's version lying around sometimes, Chris turned as Jill emerged into the room with him.

He shot a hand back through his dripping hair and shrugged a little. "You speak geek?"

Her brow shot up. "What?"

"All this shit is in geek. I can't decide if any of it is worth taking with us."

"….greek?"

"No. GEEK. You know," He signaled with his gun, "Nerd herd stuff. Scientist mumbo jumbo. It's all catawampus. I don't get it."

Jill was just dripping there looking at him. He glanced back and forth and finally answered her brows with his own. "What?"

"You can't read geek. But you can use words like catawampus?"

Chris chortled a little and shrugged one big shoulder. "Apparently. I got C's in Science in school. What can I say?"

"What'd you get in English?"

Smirking, he said out of the corner of his mouth as he passed by her to check in the cabinets beside them, "Guess."

She missed being his partner. She missed his humor, his laughter, the way he smelled in the rain. Her nose shifted to sniff him as he passed.

Part gun oil, part rain, part sweaty male – it shouldn't have smelled so good. But it did. He did. He smelled like Chris.

Which, as always, smelled like home.

She sniffed a little closer to his neck and caught the lightest aroma of cigarettes.

The papers in her hands crumpled a little as his eyes turned to her face. They were facing away from each other but shoulder to shoulder in stature. His neck was just right there. Right there. So? Sniff.

And Jill said quietly, "…you've been smoking."

His mouth turned up a little in a sheepish smile. "….no comment."

He lowered his hand from the cabinet door above them. It brushed against her as it went. She could have shifted away. She didn't.

Instead, Jill intoned softly, "The papers are detailed experimentation regarding Progenitor and Uroboros."

Chris shifted a little toward her. His eyes moved to the papers. Their arms brushed damply.

His voice was murmuring, "Hmm. Worth keeping?"

Jill's eyes lifted to his face, "….worth keeping."

Chris' eyes shifted to her mouth. "….good to know. You look good blonde, Jill."

She set the papers on the desk behind her left hip. She turned a little toward him. He turned a little toward her. His arm shifted to touch her bleeding chest. Her hand slid up the back of his arm under the impossibly tight shirt he wore.

She felt the goosebumps pebble his skin. He added, gently, "We should get you cleaned up before we press on here."

"…no. No time. I'm ok. Really. Just…" Her right hand lifted and slid against his face. The hand on her chest shifted and slid over her hip. Jill moved against him. "…just kiss me. Ok? Just kiss me. Just one time. I need you to kiss me now."

He laughed a little, hoarsely, and stole her heart. "Time for that though huh?"

"Yeah. Time for that. Now. Now time. Now for that time. Now is then."

Chris lowered his mouth to kiss her and the door opened behind them.

It was interesting to be who they were, Jill mused, because the moment the door rattled – the kissing didn't matter anymore. They were both aiming before the face appeared in the frame.

The terrified face had both hands up.

"It's me!"

Jill lowered her gun. "Ferg!?"

The scientist hurried in, looking fluttered, flustered, and panicking. "Hurry! HERE!"

He shoved the case in his hands at them. Jill caught it, Chris tried to grab the scientist, and Ferg shook his head, "No time! He'll find out! He'll stop you! GO! I'm gonna…I'm…I'm gonna go level the lab. It's all I can do. Stop him! He has the supply on his jet. He's going to…he's gonna distribute it in the air over designated locations. He's headed there now!"

Jill grabbed his arm as he ran passed them. He was filthy and frightened. He looked a little bloody. What had he seen? "Ferg! Come with us! We can protect you!"

Ferg shook his head. He pulled his arm free. "I'm done, Jill. He…I'm done. He shot me full of Uroboros when he found out. I'm DONE. I have maybe minutes. I need to get away. I need to make it COUNT."

Jill felt the horror filled her up. "I promised to save you! Please! We…maybe we can find a vaccine. Maybe we can stop it! Don't give up Ferg!"

He smiled sadly. He patted her face. His glasses were foggy and cracked. "It's done, Jill. I'm dead where I stand. Let me be the hero here. I can level the fucking lab and make sure that what's on his damn plane is the only supply he gets. It's my one chance to be brave. Let me do it. Ok?"

Jill felt the squeeze of tears down her cheeks. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. She let go of his arm and stepped back. "Thank you, Ferg. For everything. Thank you."

He grinned a little and glanced at Chris, "You told me he was big. Big, she said," Ferg chortled, "Understatements R Us….take care of her. She fought so hard to protect you. I got you here. Get her out."

Chris held his steady look. The nerd loved her. It was written all over him.

To honor that, Chris nodded. "Count on it."

"She said you were loyal. You came all this way. You left a message on your damn answering machine for a dead woman. That's pretty fucking loyal. Use what's in that case. Stop him. KILL HIM. It's our only shot here. Our only hope." He grabbed the handle on the door, "You were my only friend, Jill. Thank you for that. And good luck."

He disappeared through the door.

Jill swiped her hand over her damp cheek. Chris waited, saying nothing.

After a moment, she turned toward him. "Let's go. Now. Let's go end him NOW."

Chris followed her out the door and into the underbelly of the ship. He wanted to comfort her. But what could be said?

Wesker was out there. Wesker was waiting. Wesker had a plane full of poison to dump on the entire waiting world.

And in the case in his hand…was the only weapon capable of killing a god.

…..

Excella slid against him, stroking the fine blonde of his hair at the temple. "Albert…my darling…the time is at hand. Our time. OUR WORLD."

He cupped her face. She kissed his mouth with her pretty, pouting lips. So lovely, her skin like porcelain, like pampered silk.

She was so beautiful.

She was smart and sensual and determined.

She was the perfect paramour for a god.

He'd once put his fist through the chest of the father.

He repaid love and devotion with gifts. The gift of death, brief and flashing, for Spencer. His "father" given reprieve from the aging, ailing, deteriorating disgusting flesh that had bound him. His "partner" would be given a greater gift.

She would be given the taste of their new world.

Softly, Excella begged, "I've waited. I've waited so long. Please, Albert, make me yours. Love me. I will devote myself to you unconditionally. Surpassingly. Unequivocally."

He kissed her. It surprised her. It was sharp and fast. It was hungry. His mouth destroyed hers with a clever skill and devouring plunge. She whined, grabbing at him desperately, excitedly.

Her perfect body offered him anything he wanted.

But he didn't want the spill of her breasts or the curve of her thighs or the swell of her ass…he wanted…her BLOOD. And her ASCENSION.

Gasping, mouth swollen and rosy from him, Excella whined again, "Yessss. Please, Albert, MORE."

"More, for you, Excella my dear. More for you. My devoted little fool. More for you. All you can handle….and more."

She jerked, grunting.

He pumped himself into her.

But it wasn't what she wanted. Not between her damning things.

It was into her chest…between her sculpted breasts.

It was the BEST OF HIM. It was ALL OF HIM.

UROBOROS.

Excella shook her head, denying. Her face collapsed in horror. She grabbed his wrist and made a small sob of betrayal.

"Albert…ALBERT…what have you done?"

He put his mouth to her delicate ear and whispered, "I've given you me, my dear. I've made you the vessel for a god."

She gasped, bowing against the wall, "And now you will serve me one last time. You will stop my greatest enemy. You will show him the power of my creation. You will destroy Jill Valentine. And you will earn your place at my side forever."

Two fat tears slid down her porcelain cheeks. She whimpered. "Albert…I loved you."

"Excellla…there is no room for love in our new world. There is only room for Uroboros….now feel the power of our creation. And remember the gift I have given you…when you show its face to the waiting world."

The silence spilled around them now…punctuated by the pouring rain beyond the walls…and the soft sobbing of a woman betrayed.


	37. Chapter 37

A/N: Again, we lighten things a little bit here. It's over due right? I can see we all agree. Let's table that angst for a bit, roll with some love and action, and head toward the volcano where they can FINALLY put that bastard in black six feet under where he belongs.

….

XXXVII: Love is a Battlefield

:::::::::::::Thirty-Seven::::::::::

Africa – March 13th, 2009 –– 11:18 p.m.

The sight of a head exploding is often associated with an overly ripe melon bursting. In truth, it's best likened to a bursting watermelon. The pieces of brain matter and blood combined are similar to seeds within the red and wet juicy treat that waits within the hardened shell of the favorite summertime fruit. Blood, however, flies and splatters more like paint. It burst thick and rich from the destroyed skull to leave thick whips and tendrils of horror on the wall behind the exploded cavity.

Curiously, Chris watched another head explode as Jill destroyed it with the sniper rifle.

It was almost like a video game.

They were perched on an overhang picking off bad guys. Jill was on her belly and half behind a piece of metal for cover. She shifted, she shot, a head erupted. Chris leaned out and picked off the closer ones with his pistol.

It was, as it had always been, teamwork.

It felt almost comfortable for them.

He watched her ass in that tight battlesuit as she shifted on the floor again. The suit left nothing, and conversely everything, to the imagination. She was all muscled and lean. She was lithe and strong. Her body was a warrior goddess in a way she'd never been before.

Her bubble butt was still delicious but he was doubting it was anything but toned.

She looked good, no getting around that. She clearly hadn't been starving in Wesker's care. In fact, she appeared in good physical shape. She was strong and fierce and fighting shape.

His concerned brain said: What if she wasn't a prisoner at all? What if she was...a willing slave?

What if Wesker wasn't lying?

What if Jill was only pretending to be Jill again?

What if she was leading him to his death?

What if this was another one of Wesker's fucking game?

Maybe the device on her chest had been a decoy.

Maybe she was still Wesker's...

Jill rolled to her feet and did a little jig. "All clear, pal. You're welcome. Valentine - 9. Redfield - 5. A pretty sad showing, Redfield. I'm gonna tell everyone you're slacking in your old age."

It was the same dance she'd done when she'd won that first time against him in Duck Hunt on the Nintendo.

And that? That was all Jill.

His Jill.

HIS.

Maybe it was more simple than Wesker or His. Maybe it was simply...her. Whoever she was...she was still Jill Valentine. He had to trust that. He had to trust HER. Or this was all for nothing.

She stopped dancing to look at his face. There was something cloudy over him. Something that came and went and worried her. She couldn't blame him. The confusion, the hope, the hapless, helpless, wonderful camaraderie between them couldn't last. How could it? They had years of lost time to make up for. He didn't trust her.

It was written all over him.

Some things never changed: Chris Redfield still stunk at hiding his feelings.

Jill eyed him in silence. He eyed her back.

Finally, she said tonelessly, "I'm still me."

Quietly, softly, scarily, he mused, "Are you?"

She tilted her head. "I'm more me now than I've been in a long time."

A good answer. He felt the same.

And that? THAT scared him to death.

He watched her face. "How much was he telling the truth about, Jill?"

Her eyes flinched, just a little. She shook her head and picked up her gun. He followed her down the small staircase into the belly of the ship. They stepped over bodies as they moved. "We'll talk about it when this is done, Chris. But not now."

She eased open the door to the next room beyond the cargo bay where they stood. Chris grabbed her arm and startled her. "We're about to go up against him. Maybe for the last time. I left Sheva behind. Sheva. The woman who came here with me to save you. The only person I've trusted in a long time. Tell me now. Tell me."

"Tell you what?" And she sounded exasperated.

"Tell me he lied. Tell me you aren't his."

Their eyes held. There was a kind of hardness to him she'd never seen before. Was it the time away from her? Was it age? Was it just mileage? Where was the boy who'd laughed and left whoopie cushions under her ass in the RPD station?

Dead.

Like the girl with the beret.

Jill dropped the sniper rifle. She turned quickly. He didn't let go of her arm. Her fingers curled into his uniform. The hand holding his gun holstered it rapidly on his thigh.

Words, she thought, sometimes there was no reason for words.

Sometimes with a man like Chris Redfield, it was actions.

Louder, always, than words.

His hand gripped her braid, he looped it twice around his palm, and met the eager push of her mouth with his. It was desperate. It was almost painful. It was all loss and longing and love. It was a kiss that had plagued them both for so long that it was a bit like dying to feel it again.

And the power of those muscles he was sporting were suddenly very evident. He scooped her against him like she weighed nothing. She was tall in her boots but he took her off her feet. Her greedy hands poked under his shirt where she could reach beneath the clingy fabric.

She wasn't sure who was more aggressive in it. Her maybe. Him maybe. Somebody finally broke the kiss when they simply ran out of air.

Her lips throbbed.

That's how hard it was.

Her LIPS throbbed.

But he didn't set her down. Not right away.

She gasped, breathlessly, "I'm yours, you idiot. Yours. And you're mine. Stop trying to over think. It's done. Whatever I did to stay alive, whatever I did to protect you, to protect Claire...it's done. Help me stop him. Help me kill him. And be mine."

Their gazes sparked, fast and needy. He spoke low, with feeling, "I wasn't celibate, Jill. I wasn't. There were other women."

She grabbed his face. She shook her head, "Stop. Now. It doesn't matter. Not now. Not anymore. Not now. This matters. You. Me. THIS. The rest? Is later, Chris. It's later. It's us now. And him. And the END. Focus. And let's end this."

But they surged together again. Breathless, swollen mouthed, they finally let go of each other to relearn how to breathe.

Jill grabbed her gun, panting a little. "That needed done. It needed to happen."

Chris said nothing.

"So, it's out there. It's done. And we can...just...leave it for now. No more staring at you like a side of beef or something." Jill chambered the gun, laughing a little, "Like a horny teenager or something, Trying to eat your face while Albert Wesker runs around trying to end the world. Stupid."

She eased open the door and peered inside. The deck was just beyond them. The rain was wicked fast as it fell. The storm was kicking up waves beside the ship with its rage.

Jill saw nothing but shipping container along the slick surface of the ship.

She added, "Looks clear. You ready?"

She turned her head over her shoulder. The gun thunked to the deck again as she had to drop it. It was either that or shoot the man who scooped her up against him.

He pressed her against the wall beside the door. They spent a good handful of minutes groping.

Yep. Horny teenagers.

Somebody shifted and rubbed their bodies together. Somebody grunted.

Somebody laughed.

And he let her go.

Flushed, face aflame, Jill pressed her hand to face and laughed softly.

Chris said, endearingly hoarse, "Ok. Ready."

"Hmm." She made a small sound. "Ready for what?"

He glanced down. She did too. And her face somehow turned beet red.

Her embarrassment charmed the hell out of him.

Jill squeaked, "Not exactly what I meant."

And now Chris laughed. He just...he laughed. And that felt amazing too.

"That's just how I am around you, kid. I'm pretty much hard for you like...six days a week."

Her eyes twinkled in her pink face. "What about the seventh day?"

His lips split on a grin. "That's the day of rest."

It was THEM. It was them. And it was good.

Jill shifted and slid against him. His arm looped and pulled her in.

And that was good too.

Just a hug that felt so good. He realized that's what he'd missed the most: the holding. His arms were empty without her. Her arms lifted and circled his waist.

His face shifted and lodged against her neck and shoulder.

And her arms?

That's where he didn't feel empty at all. It's where he went to feel full.

She breathed, softly, "I've missed you."

He made a small sound. It might have been a grunt.

He was a man of few words on a good day.

So? A grunt.

And that? That was Redfield for I've missed you too.

11:46 p.m. - Somewhere in the Indian Ocean

The storm was rough on the ship. It wasn't fairing well.

The danger was more vast than just a simple vessel sinking here. It was a matter of knowing that there was no rescue coming. Worse than that? They were on their own.

With the plug pulled by HQ, with only Josh and Sheva loose to try to round up some kind of escape, with just the two of them versus a genetically enhanced Albert Wesker with delusional megalomania and a plane full of a potentially catastrophic viral agent...the odds of winning had dipped drastically to the dark side. It might have been comic, if it wasn't so pathetically geared toward complete and utter failure.

The tossing storm sent Chris sliding a little over the slick deck and Jill grabbed his arm to steady him.

His eyes turned down to her in the swirling sprays of blinding salt water and pouring rain.

So maybe they died here fighting a losing battle. Maybe that's how they went down.

But at least they went down together.

His hand rolled over and gripped hers. He squeezed, just once, and her mouth turned up in a little smile. She shouted, and it sounded whisper soft over the roar of thunder and crash of waves, "I can't see SHIT out here!"

Chris laughed, shrugged. "Pretty sure you'd SMELL shit at least!"

Jill shook her head, rolled her eyes, and laughed again as they tried to hold their feet and move across the deck to the other side of the ship.

They ducked between two shipping containers and had a brief respite from the crash of horrendous weather. The sky split with streaks of lightning, blinding them with the burst of it. It struck somewhere out in the ocean, creating a crackling monstrous burst of noise and a geyser of salt spray that soaked as it came down around them like a shower.

Jill gripped his vest in her hands and shouted above the din, "We have to get out of this storm! We are useless out here!"

Chris started to say something clever and something shifted over her left shoulder.

Later, Jill would think about the boy in Raccoon City that had been fast and responsive and clever. She'd think about the man who'd been on the Queen Dido and stood between her and the mutated Norman. He'd nearly died from infection over it.

In the pouring rain, in the wilds of Africa, in the middle of the ocean on a ship carrying death, and she was wrong again.

Because there was never a time when Chris Redfield was useless.

He gestured with his head, a single nod, and it was like he'd shouted a command from a hilltop. Jill ducked, the rifle on her back was pulled clear by him the same moment, and he fired above her head as she cleared his sight line.

She used his big body to cover her as she shifted behind and to the side. He fired twice more and all the rain, all the wind, all the storms in all the world wouldn't move him. He didn't stumble. He didn't stagger. Training or skill or sheer fucking luck gave him leaden legs.

He picked off dogs as they leaped and landed. He picked them off in mid air. The first one blown out of the sky a foot from where Jill had stood.

A far cry from the frightened boy in the forest outside the Arklay Mountains.

That boy had reeked of fear.

This one reeked of power...and survival.

Jill swung her machine gun up as she took the low position at his left hip. She fired from the crouch, peppering the three Majini that raced them on the rolling foredeck. A snarl to her right signaled another charging beast.

She didn't turn, she didn't even look, because she trusted him to take care of it.

He shifted, with barely a second between the sound and the thought, and the rotting skull of the racing dog erupted in a burst of brains and blood. It fell to its side with a yelp and swirled in the water as it shot across the deck and took out the legs of two more Majini while it went. They went down, Jill took them out while they struggled in the storm, and all three were swept over the edge of the ship into the dark.

Lightning flashed, the rain turned softer and more misty, and something was wobbling toward them. It was a freak of viral mutation. It was part teeth, part tail and boney protrustion, part splitting body to reveal jagged death and tongue - there was no way to make sense out of it as it came at them. Jill grabbed Chris' belt, used it like a lever, and slung herself between his legs without missing a beat.

Like a kid sliding for home, she went across the deck, rolled to her feet and started firing. The bullets pinged uselessly on the bony shell of the thing as it wobble ran at her. She whistled high, loud, and just once and Chris turned back with the rifle.

The heavy round took the thing in the exposed and tender groin. It staggered and went to its knees in the tossing sea foam, and Jill was inside its attack rang. She threw a hurricane kick at it that knocked the thing around like a bowling pin and spilled it over to its back on the deck.

Outside of a video game, Chris figured he'd never even seen someone throw a swirling kick like that. Whatever she'd been doing here, she'd been learning to kick ass. Maybe Wesker was a complete psycho...but he'd taught her well.

As it went down, Chris whistled.

Jill threw up her arm for the rifle that he tossed to her.

She caught it, shouldered it, and blasted the struggling thing in the open cavity exposed by its splitting sides.

The pulsing thing that was its heart or its head or its power source erupted in a nasty spray of ectoplasmic fluid. It jerked, twitched, and died in a spasm like a cockroach being squished.

The rain was nothing but mist now. The lightning was over the sea. The wind was still strong enough to toss hair and bodies overboard as they lay. But it was easy enough to hold your feet against it now.

The worst of the storm, it seemed, had passed.

The scent of the sea lingered - salty and endearing...and riddled with the stench of decay. They paused together, sniffing the fetid air.

Jill glanced over Chris' shoulder and saw it first...the pyre. The funeral pyre. There was no other way to describe it. A horrible mountain of the dead. They were piled twelve feet high and rotting.

She breathed, horrified, "Chris...what the hell?!"

He turned, gun drawn, and it wavered in horror.

All the things they'd seen...and this was by far the most horrific. It was babies and children and men. It was wives and husbands and daughters. It was the worst thing you could imagine. Where one ended, another began, rotting and stuck in pieces to those that buried around them. The dead were nothing here but garbage to be tossed aside...or perhaps to be fed to something that hadn't yet met.

Chris glanced down at her as Jill stepped up beside him.

And the horror spread to his eyes from his mouth, "...did you do this, Jill?"

Her gaze lifted to his face. The agony written there was almost as painful for him as the sight of what lay beyond them. She shook her head, just once, "No...not me. I didn't know. I didn't know. But even if I had, Chris. Even if I had known...I couldn't stop anything. He could have easily made me do this...and worse. Do you understand now? We have to stop him. At all costs. We have to STOP him NOW."

Chris nodded, eyes frozen, latched onto the putrid pile of death like a trainwreck. He couldn't look away, even though he didn't want to see it. He couldn't look away.

All those people, murdered, slaughtered like a vermin, like nothing. All those people...a teeming tower of horror that would be the rest of the world if Wesker wasn't destroyed along side the horror of his virus.

A high pitched keen drew their weapons like a beacon.

From beside the pile, Excella Gionne stumbled, gasping painfully.

She was hunched over, clutching her stomach and wretching. She staggered, she nearly fell down, she was weeping and whining like a kicked dog.

She saw them and shook her head, falling to her knees. "Albert! WHY!? After everything I have done for you! I have served you so faithfully! I loved you! Why!?"

From somewhere above them, the voice of the mastermind of death that was their macabre stage of horrors filled the air, "Excella...you have been so very useful. I'm afraid I still have a purpose for you. Chris! I see you managed to free my puppet after all. What a joy to see you both together again..."

Chris raised his gun to try to see him through the heavy spotlights that obscured the sight line from the top of the ship. It was blindingly bright. It was impossible to find a place to aim. "WESKER! What have you done!?"

Excella squealed painfully, "You said we'd CHANGE THIS WORLD TOGETHER, ALBERT!"

Wesker's voice chuckled, "And so we will. So we will. Chris, I'm afraid your mission ends here...you see...Uroboros is on the EVE of it's appearance...and six billion cries of agony will birth a new balance..."

Jill shifted into the spotlight, raising her voice above the keens of the pained Excella. "Wesker! You know this will change nothing! You'll have no one left to rule if you do this! You can still stop! You can still turn back! Please! There's still time to prove you aren't the villian. Isn't that what you were trying to teach me? That you're trying to save us all? Don't do this...don't...you won't be saving us, you'll be killing us!"

If you stared hard enough through the shiny glass above them, you could almost see his sunglasses.

Almost.

His voice came back to them, "Jill...you would have made such a wonderful Queen. You're greatest weakness defeated you after all it seems. Your capacity to care for a dying race is noble...and futile. Mankind was doomed long before the antibodies appeared in your blood that made you worth saving, Jill. It no longer matters...as neither of you will live to see the dawn."

Chris shouted, into the swirling dark, "You bastard! SHOW YOURSELF!"

"Sorry, Chris. I'm afraid I'm out of time for another reunion. One glimpse of my new world and even your limited intellect will finally begin to understand...for now...I'll leave you with a final gift, a preview...a promise. Excella, darling, it would seem Uroboros has rejected you...a pity as you were such an excellent asset. It's a shame to waste such a brilliant mind...but I have one last task for you."

Jill tried once more, desperately, "Wait! Please! You told me once you weren't evil..." She breathed, she centered herself, and she entreated the enemy, "If you do this...you're evil. You're not neutral. Mass genocide is EVIL...Albert...don't be the bad guy the world thinks you are...please. There's things still worth saving here, now, in this world. This one. Please."

She saw Chris flinch when she used the first name of the devil. It hurt her just to say it. But she was TRYING To reach the man that was left inside the monster. She'd shared his bed, she KNEW there was still a man in there. Her betrayal of him had proven that...and still...he hadn't killed her. Why? What use was she if she couldn't be trusted?

But he HADN'T KILLED HER.

There was a man still left inside the shell of Albert Wesker.

If they could reach it...maybe they could convince him to stop. Maybe...

Wesker's voice came one last time, "Jill...an impassioned plea. Chris? It would seem she's still mine after all. I do hope you survive the winnowing, Jill. I do. If you manage to...come find me. Perhaps there's still a place for a Judas at my table. For now...farewell...old friends."

Excella shrieked so loudly that she drew all the attention. "ALLLLBERRRRRRRT!"

She grunted like a pig, threw her arms back as if she'd been shot, and her mouth split at the lips. It split down her face in a gush of blood. Her perfect breasts trembled, bouncing, and blackened in a necrotic spread of rotting flesh. She screeched and carved at the sizzling skin with her manicured nails like she'd claw open her own body...and the whipping, whirling, slapping spill of tentacles burst from her mouth like angry tongues to lick the sky.

Her body exploded throwing red and wet around in a disgusting splatter. The tentacles shot out to grip and rip bodies. They tugged and pulled, pushed and jerked. They brought them in and absorbed them, ate them, devoured them in a rush and crush of bone, a red wash of ruined flesh and spilling blood, a tumultuous tornado of tentacles and horror.

Someone might have shot, but the paralysis of shock and fear was simply too great.

They stood, watching the mountain of dead become food for the thing that had been Excella Gionne.

Until the thing that had once had perfect breasts and beautiful porcelain skin was a swirling, twirling, roiling and lumbering length of black coiled tentacles. Like snakes as wide as a bus and growing, rolling together, running over the ship and around the deck, racing in a slippery spill of spongy blubber to murder them where they stood.

Jill breathed, "Run."

And it was the best advice of the night.

The tentacles started dropping. The started slapping.

They clapped and clipped the deck inches from where they stood. They tossed the ship carelessly with each muscled smash upon steel. It echoed. The ship groaned and bucked. They slid and tumbled.

Jill rolled, Chris skidded. They fell and staggered and ran for it.

Chris shouted, tossing Jill up to higher ground as the tentacles smashed into the deck inches behind him. "We need to get INSIDE!"

They started running for the closest door at the top of the steel walkway. When Jill staggered, he ducked and picked her up. She clutched around his front like a monkey as he hit the door with his shoulder and burst into the main cabin of the ship.

A tentacle slapped into his back a split second before he kicked the door closed. He shifted enough that the full slap hit him and spared Jill. She shouted in horror and put her legs down to help.

The hit threw him forward, Jill leaped off his front to brace them, and she caught him against her as they staggered together into the wall.

The thunder of the slaps from the tentacles made the whole ship groan.

Jill grunted under his weight and shouted, "Are you alright?!"

His weight was staggering. It was taking her breath to hold him. All that muscle weighed a fucking TON when you tried to support the sheer mass of it.

Because he wasn't moving.

He'd taken the full hit from that tentacle to protect her.

AND HE WASN'T MOVING.

Because he was dead weight in her arms...and he was bleeding all over her battlesuit.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: I did not kill Chris Redfield...yet. I did not kill Chris Redfield yet. Will I? I'm unsure of this answer. I never plan that far ahead.

I killed Leon Kennedy - twice. Why not Chris? It's what I do.

Slainte.

….

XXXVIII: BIOHAZARD

:::::::::::::Thirty-Eight::::::::::

Africa – March 14th, 2009 –– 12:06 a.m.

"What the hell am I supposed to do now!?"

He was lying on top of her. Full body, full force, fully smooshing her into the floor and against the wall. She was, officially, a Jill sandwich – seeing as he'd squashed her flat. 

Muffled by the floor, Chris responded, "I'm dead weight. I can't help you. What do you do? I'm bigger. You're smaller. You can't pick me up in your arms and carry me. There are bullets and blood and bad guys everywhere. What do you do?"

She stuck her tongue in his ear and had him laughing. He rolled his head and kissed her, slow and wet. Long and blending. Loose lips and a LOT of tongue.

Finally, he eyed her narrowly, "That won't work if I'm half dead or unconscious, Valentine."

"It worked now. You're not even remotely dead. In fact," She wiggled, grinning, "Your carriage is very…erect…"

Droll, he shook his head and flopped back on her until she grunted in discomfort.

"What good does this do, Chris? When will I EVER need to carry you?"

"Really?" He laughed against her neck, "Figure it out, kid. Hurry up. The bad guys are coming."

The weight of his bulk drove her to one knee. She went down, gasping, and her body was shaking at supporting the sheer mass of him. The blood was hot on her neck and left ear. It pooled in the open neck of her battle suit and over her wounds on her chest.

It burned, it itched, it hurt. It kept her alert and ready.

She couldn't tell how bad it was. He was out, that part was true, and he'd taken the hit in the head. It looked like a hit above the ear. She couldn't be sure.

The utterly annoying part about the muscle on him was this moment. He was huge. Heavy. Unconscious. And carrying forty goddamn pounds of gear. If he wasn't pushing 260 in this moment, she'd eat her rifle.

Against his ear, she huffed, "Fat ass." And shifted.

She was better now than she had been that day in the house when he'd tested her.

She was stronger, faster, and more – even before the damn Hercules Complex rolling in her blood.

She grabbed his arm, jerked, and half threw his bulk over her shoulders until she had him in a fireman's carry. She rose, knees shaking, but she could carry him for miles this way. She moved into the closest room, clearing as she went, praying she didn't face any god damn hostiles.

The boat shook and tossed, she staggered and nearly dropped him, and she lowered him to the floor and pushed him under the steel desk that waited there, bolted to the floor.

Jill secured both doors and moved back to his side, checking him for damage.

His face was a mask of blood, startling, but not necessarily mortal. The wound above his ear was gaping but looked shallow, unfortunately head wounds blood like a mother fucker and could frighten the unknowing to death. She dug in her pack of crap for some gauze and bandaged his head.

She put two fingers to his neck and his pulse was strong and steady.

She shook him a little, trying to get him to wake.

Finally, she gave up and secured him under the desk. She was reluctant to leave him, but she had to figure out how bad it was with…the former Excella monster swirling around their ship. The ship bucked and rolled, slapped and smacked and smashed into by the thing that was still growing. STILL.

Jill could see it outside the porthole window.

Like some horror movie thing that was going to swallow the whole vessel.

She couldn't help but think of Brad and his stupid jokes. Brad and his death. A goddamn tentacle through the throat. Horrible.

She'd be DAMNED if she let Chris die stabbed in the throat by that mutated bitch.

Jill rose, the ship squealed, and the ceiling split open in a sheering scream of metal. A tentacle as big as her waist struck the floor where she'd been moments before she'd rolled to avoid it. The floor roacked, the ship bucked, and Jill shouted, "Excella! You CUNT! I've been waiting for this moment for YEARS! YEARS! You want me!? Come and get me!"

And she led the tentacles away from Chris.

Jill burst into the hallway and the porthole next to her face exploded in a shower of glass. A tentacle smashed into the wall beside her left shoulder and Jill swung her knife at it, instinct and survival. Blood sprayed in a putrid black wash.

The tentacle retreated and something, somewhere, screamed in pain. If a monster with no face could scream.

Lord.

Jill raced for the far hallway and dove to avoid losing her face to a whipping blast from another tentacle that thrashed and smashed in front the side of the ship that it, literally, ripped away. A hole the size of a buick was left behind – showing the tossing sea, the terrifying storm, and the crushing waves that waited to drown her.

Jill threw herself into the closest door and found herself in the bridge. She ran from the wide open windows, horrified of the moment the glass erupted and bathed her in death. She skidded and threw herself on her belly under the console as a tentacle struck the windows and rattled the glass.

Her gaze hit the far wall and tried to make sense of the directives there but there was no time.

None.

The tentacle struck again and she dove out from her hiding place and ran for the ladder to the left of the console. If the tentacles broke the glass on the bridge and invaded the helm of the ship, they were done for. It would converge and crush the damn thing like an accordion.

She had to keep moving. She had to keep it moving to track her.

She had to hope to GOD Chris was well hidden where she'd left him.

The ladder spilled her to the deck, into the pouring rain, and into the face of the most horrifying thing she'd ever seen.

The world shifted, the déjà vu spilled around her, and she was facing the thing on the deck of the Queen Zenobia again with Chris. But this was worse. It was. Because she'd KNOWN this one before it was a monster.

Excella had been a bitch in life, no lie there, in mutation? She was a nightmare.

The tentacles rose from the ocean to tower above the ship like skyscrapers of death. Knobs and pulsing masses of messy joints flashed on the tentacles offering an idea of where one should shoot, if one were inclined to attempt to battle something the size of a five city blocks.

This is what Wesker wanted to unleash on the world.

This was his "masterpiece."

It was too horrible to be born.

It was too disgusting to be believed.

He had to die.

And for the first real time since it had all started, Jill knew she was going to ENJOY killing him.

Because no sane person would heap something like this on humanity and call it benevolence. No sane person would call it a gift. And only a PSYCHO would consider this better than human weakness. It wasn't an ascension…it was a perversion.

And she was going to relish watching his nightmare burn with him standing in the middle of it.

A tentacle swooped through the screaming rain and the showers of tossing waves that tried to take her down, and smashed a foot from Jill's leg, rocking the ship deck and sending her spinning. Jill grabbed for the closest wall and held on, keeping her feet.

She laughed, high and loud, but it sounded soft and lost in the driving anger of mother nature – her solitude disrupted by the perversion of peace that was attempting to bring the world down in rage and destruction.

"That all ya got!? YOU AIN'T NUTHIN BITCH! How's it feel to know he BETRAYED YOU!? YOU WERE NOTHING TO HIM!"

The tentacles screamed. If they could. They SCREAMED.

Excella was still inside of that mess.

Horrifying.

Jill whispered, "I'd rather be dead than turned into that."

A tentacle came for her and she dove, skidding on her belly through the rain and thunder. The deck tossed, the ship went nearly sideways and capsized, and Jill rolled to her feet to run on. A ladder took her up another flight to the second deck.

Something dropped onto the deck. It was…ectopic fluid or pus or plopping death. It had teeth and squealed like a pig and jumped and splatted. It had friends and comrades in arms and there were ten of them around her trying to eat her.

She stomped, she kicked, she shot them off her when they latched onto her battle suit.

And the first tentacle struck her.

She just…couldn't move fast enough.

It caught her broadside and threw her out.

She was airborne, shooting across the sky like a dart. She went over and came down, twisting in the wind.

And she hit the tossing foam of the angry ocean.

The cold took her breath. The salt water stole her shout. And the world was black and red.

She felt the tentacles chase her into the churning depths and she swam blindly.

One caught her left leg and jerked, ripping her free of the water into the open air so fast her head spun. She dangled, gasping, and grabbed for the rifle but it was lying on the deck – forlornly. She whipped her knife free and rotated, throwing herself up to carve at that which bound her.

"JILLLLL!"

Her eyes shifted, settled, and found Ferg on the deck of the ship, hoisting the rifle.

In one hand, if he shot her by accident, at least it would hopefully be a quick death. In the other, the last thing she ever wanted to see was Ferg – the world's biggest nerd who'd never in his life even touched a gun – aiming a Dragunov at her face. She was about to become splattered mess with a 7.62 round giving her a third eye.

Would she see the future?

Why not? Maybe it would grant her better hallway vision.

"I WILL SAVE YOU!"

She wanted to laugh.

Because he sounded so sincere.

The tentacle got ready to toss Jill at Ferg like a fast ball, Ferg fired the sniper rifle madly, and the world slowed down. Jill was slung forward, spinning like a top, Ferg put up his arms to catch her, the bullet from the sniper rifle hit the tentacle mass in some part of that actually did damage, and it erupted in a burst of blood and fluid from the injured mass.

Jill hit Ferg, they hit the deck in a mess of arms and shouting, and slid over the ground to hit the steel wall with a clang and a grunt of pain, and the mass of tentacles started smashing around them like the world's worst game of Whack a Mole.

Ferg shouted and scrambled. Jill pushed him and kicked at the tentacles uselessly. And the tentacle looped at her throat.

It whipped her up, Ferg squealed as it grabbed him by the belly and did the same, and they were dangling and whipping in the air like a toddler excitedly waving toys. Jill was choking, gasping and jerking. Ferg and was being likely squeezed in half with pressure.

A helluva way to day.

And the world erupted in white fire.

The sky opened. God sent a bolt of lightning from the highest point of Heaven to smite the wicked and destroy thine enemies in holy wrath and redemption.

No.

Not exactly.

Not God.

But Chris Redfield.

He stood on the highest deck with some kind of weapon she'd never seen.

The blood on him made him stand out sharp in the darkness. And he hit the button again while Jill choked, died, and loved him.

The tentacle was severed on contact in burst of tremendous light.

It sizzled, it popped, and it screamed as it dropped her.

She went down, rolling, and a second later Ferg joined her on the deck. They moved fast, ducking and rolling until they were under the over hang, and witnessing David and Goliath battle for eternity.

Ferg whispered, "It's Cloud and Sephiroth."

Jill laughed, shaking. She just…laughed, "I go with David and Goliath….you go with Final Fantasy. That guy up there? He'd love to hear you say it."

Ferg whispered, "When…when he goes up against Wesker….tell him…OMNISLASH."

Ferg fell into her arms. Jill shouted and caught him, dragging him further back, "FERG! What is it!?"

"It's…my time, Valentine. It's time. End me. Quickly. Now. Before I turn. Hurry!"

"…Ferg…."

"Please, Jill. Please. Don't let me turn."

The weapon struck again, the world erupted in fire and stench and the boat tossed angrily as the thing that had been Excella burst like a pimple – blowing crap and fluid and thick mucus all around them in a wash of stench and disgusting debris.

It plopped and rained down.

And the silence spilled thick in its absence. Thunder grumbled. Rain fell.

And Ferg gripped her wrists, "Please, Jill. Hurry now. No tears. Stop him. Save yourselves. Let me be the hero…let it be me…just once…"

Jill made a small sound of pain. She stroked his filthy face. His eyes bled Wesker – red and yellow and horrible. He was right, he was turning….and worse than that?

Uroboros had accepted him.

He wouldn't turn into Excella.

He would….ASCEND.

Jill pulled her knife from her thigh, trembling.

Ferg touched her face, gently. "Do…do you think there was ever a time that a girl like you…would have looked at a nerd like me?"

His tears fell, mixing in the rain. Jill laughed, broken, "I would have loved a nerd like you. All my life, I was the nerd. Birds of a feather, Ferg….birds of a feather…"

She kissed him, so, so, softly. He grinned, blinking those somehow beautiful eyes. "Some guys…have…all…th-the luck…." He laughed, and blood spilled down his chin.

His belly rippled with mutation.

Jill whispered, "Rest in peace, Ferg. I'll avenge you."

"I know you will…VALKYRIE….TIFA…that's what you are…Cloud….and Tifa…"

She hugged him, shaking and scared. He whispered, "Now, Jill…I'm out of time…now…"

And Jill shifted, just a little, and drove her knife into the place where his skull met his spine. He gasped. He grunted. And he went still in her arms as the air left him.

The blood was hot on her hand.

She held on, rocking his body in the rain. The tears wouldn't come. Not yet.

She rocked him and breathed. The only friend she'd had in captivity. The only person who'd cared. He'd died a hero.

She whispered, "I'll never forget you, Ferg. Ever."

Jill laid his body down gently in the rain and rose, brushing her fingers over his face one last time.

She turned and Chris was there in the swirling storm, watching her.

They held eyes and she spoke, harshly, "See? I'm still me." She shouted now, into the turbulent weather, "I'M STILL ME! STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M WESKER!"

She shoved him and he stumbled. But he said nothing, watching her.

"I could be at his right hand for a thousand years and I would NEVER be like him! DO YOU HEAR ME!?" She shoved him again and Chris let her, face stoney and impassive, "I will NEVER BE LIKE HIM! A MONSTER! A BASTARD! A FOOL! He thinks he'll save humanity!? Who says it needs saving!? WHO!? The world is flawed, it's broken, it's struggling – it's SURVIVING! And for every arrogant, stupid, megalomaniacal ASSHOLE in the world…there are a THOUSAND FERGS!"

Her fingers curled in his shirt. She jerked him forward and shook him. "A thousand Fergs…good men…good women…BRAVE NOBODIES WHO DESERVE MORE THAN TO DIE FORGOTTEN LIKE THAT….and only ONE CHRIS REDFIELD!"

She shook him so hard his head whipped in the rain. "Do you hear me!? There's only one David! There's only one Cloud! There's only one YOU! I stayed where I was. I played his games. I did it. Because I was protecting you. I'd do it again. A thousand times. A million times. People like me? A dime a dozen, Chris. But there's only one YOU."

He grabbed her shoving hands. He pinned them to her chest and jerked her into his arms. She went, gasping and shaking. And he held her in the circle of him, tight and hard. "Stop it, Jill. Stop it. Stop."

She curled, so angry, so afraid, so hurt. "I'm still me…Chris. I'm still me. That guy over there? He died to get me back to you. You have to trust me. You have to TRUST me, Chris. You have to trust me."

He was shaking now too. And he whispered, "Shhh. Shhh. It's ok. It's ok, Jill. It's ok now."

Her arms looped around his waist. They clung, tight and hard. She dug her nails into his back and hurt him with her need but it was ok. It was OK. He'd meant that.

It was ok.

And ok was as good as they were going to get until Wesker was dead.

….

They didn't speak again as they moved back into the bridge of the ship. Chris laid Ferg beneath the console and covered him with a blanket they found in a cabinet. Jill flipped through folders of information.

What was there to say here?

She wanted his full trust. He was trying. He was TRYING. But she'd been Wesker's for three years. The last mate of Albert Wesker was current bits of shit and piss in the ocean. What would become of Jill if this was just a ruse?

He was simply too old and too jaded to just trust her because she asked.

It was a hard place for him to be.

The screen beside him flickered as he rose, saying a prayer over the fallen Ferg to help him find peace. Chris glanced at it.

It was an assault bomber in a hanger below deck.

He blinked, scanning the shimmering camera feed.

Beside him, Jill breathed, "Oh god. That's what he's doing. He's going to take to the sky for mass distribution."

"….we're in hostile air space, Jill. If he takes that bomber airborne…the first priority will be to shoot it down…"

Jill glanced at Chris, horror on her, "They can't shoot it down, Chris. They can't."

"I know…it'll initiate a biohazard." (Copyright Capcom).

"How long?"

"He's on deck, Jill. Minutes? Maybe."

"Then let's go."

She turned to the far elevator, rushing. They hit it together and pressed the bottom for the sublevel hanger.

Jill whispered it, one more time, "You have to trust me, Chris."

His hand turned over, hers slid down – and they gripped, hard and tight. It was the best he could do. It was all he had. His trust had gone out the window with her in the rain. He just didn't know how to give it to her again.

And it broke his fucking heart.

In the air around them, a warning blared: WARNING! FIRE DETECTED IN THE MAIN ENGINE ROOM! SEALING OFF PRIMARY BULKHEAD! PLEASE EVACUATE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY!

And the doors opened to the seventh pit of hell.

Wesker stood with his back to them, observing the long hanger where his bomber waited to spill death on the whole of the world he was trying to "save".

Jill whispered, softly, "Chris?"

"...yeah?"

"...omnislash."

And the Devil turned to face them.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: The sting of regret gets me on this story.

The pissed of rage of being scared and harassed and letting myself get manipulated by people I thought were my friends on it. Bah. Well, for those of you still reading (I freaking hate the edited version of this. Hate it. I may get my big girl pants on and go back and make it the fantastically flawed smutty fest it was and leave it as MONTHS of my life I spent writing it.) thank you for the support.

I'm thinking 40 may see the end for them. A good number. If can tie up the volcano and the man in black in the next chapter here.

End Rant.

End Wesker.

ANNNND go.

Slainte.

….

XXXIX: FORTUNES FAVORED

:::::::::::::Thirty-NINE::::::::::

Africa – March 14th, 2009 –– 12:56 a.m.

There were no words.

Sometimes? There were no words.

You had to fight the devil in the dark. It was the only way to make sense of it.

There was no light in the dark with the demons. It was, entirely, a battle for the soul in the blistering blackness.

He listened to the breathing, he listened to the steps. He listened to the repetitive thump of boots and ground. He listened, to the voice of the devil as he serenaded himself with his own symphony of insanity. His entire soliloquy was built around the premise that he was a savior.

"You see Chris," Mused the prince of darkness in his black battle suit pacing beside the plane where he intended to take to the skies and send the world careening off it's axis into a pedantic pit of infection and death, "The world is a place in need of a revolution. Not the kind bought in bullets and blood, but the kind birthed in brilliance and death. Under the main stream idea of expectations, a solid truth remains."

Chris waited, waited, waited for Jill to finish shutting off the lights. He waited, he hated, and he listened to Wesker's diatribe with half an ear and a burning rage that nearly choked him where he stood.

"The world is damned." Wesker informed them, pacing and flashing the red and gold of his eyes in the semi-darkness of the hanger. "The world is lost. I'm granting it the chance to rise from it's own ashes. I'm granting it a karmic retribution. I'm offering it a way to, not only continue, but to become a paradise where only the chosen survive."

There was a clunk. A clink.

And the lights went dark around them.

Wesker laughed, delighting himself, "Jill! It must be you! My perfect soldier! My flawed mate! Come join me! Together we can offer your former partner a chance to die a warrior's death. I'm delighted to know you destroyed Excella. She was...never right it seems. You were so close, Jill! NEARLY perfect!..." He sighed, his stupid leather duster whipping as he turned and paced back, "But your love for the bumbling baffoon that is with you now was your weakness it seems. The game started so perfectly. A girl and a boy and a lifetime. The two of you, instantly attracted, potentially soul mates...pandering to each other with sex and stupidity and humanity."

He sighed again, dramatically, "You stumbled along, falling and failing and finding your way. I nudged you, guided you, molded you both. A sculptor with imperfect clay. But alas, it was never Chris meant to be mine. I thought, in the beginning, he was the perfect soldier to join me. But no. NO. It was YOU, Jill. Always you. Hiding in his beefy shadow."

He paused, considering the shift of shadows on the upper deck of the hanger. "He usurped your power, Jill. Loving him? It made you weaker, softer. You'd been almost cold before he found you. I watched you, for years you understand, both of you before you were selected. I knew where your strengths and weaknesses were. I knew there was a girl who no one loved, locked inside herself looking for her way to greatness. And a boy, ingrained in the bones and bosom of a family he'd adored, ripped from his youth to become a man before his time. One, so careful to follow rules. One, so careful to make their own. A perfect ying/yang to each other. Destroying you emotionally was really more scientific than anything at first..."

He considered it, watching for Jill in the shadows atop them. "If I could destroy you both, emotionally, I would be able to rebuild you as the perfect soldier. As Jill grew into herself, I began to realize I'd misjudged the game. Redfield - simply too honest, too pure, too good. He was lost to me. I'd never corrupt him...but Jill..."

He sighed again, almost shivering, "A perfect canvas for my brush. I played her. I molded her. I made her like a puppet master to dance on my strings. I brought her to me and made her mine. And yet...YET...she was always unpredictable. Just enough that I knew she'd balance the line between what she wanted and what was right. I underestimated, clearly, the depth of her devotion to you, Chris. I thought, surely, she'd abandon you for her own purpose. It seems the human condition of that still eludes me after all this time."

From the shadows behind him, Chris finally spoke, "That's because love is for humans, you fucking bastard, not monsters."

The hook took him in the face as she turned. It connected and rang up Chris' arm like a shot of adrenaline. He hooked again with his left and drove in an uppercut with his right. Each hit left his arm numb to the elbow. As Wesker reeled, Chris head butted him and it threw him to the floor. It worked like a charm but it hurt Chris to do it. He stumbled, he bled, spilling red and hot down his face from it.

Jill shouted, "GRAB HIM NOW, CHRIS!"

And he did that too. He grabbed his former Captain.

Well, he tried.

Wesker, clearly, had had enough. He flipped up from the floor like he was pulled on strings. The double kick to the face sent Chris over and skidding on his back across the floor.

Wesker raced at him, lifting him from the floor to shake him like a wet rag, and he brought his hand back like he'd drive it straight into his former sniper and rip his heart from his chest.

Jill whistled. There was a whoosh of sound.

Wesker turned his head and threw Chris away. He launched him like he was nothing. Like Chris had hit a trampoline and gone bouncing. He rocketed over the over hang and onto the landing strip where the jet sat, rolling.

And Wesker caught the 40mm anti-tank round as it sparked and shook, trying to explode him where he stood.

Jill shouted in rage. Chris stopped rolling, skidded out on his side, and aimed his pistol from the floor.

A handful of seconds. Nothing really. Not even the length of a good kiss.

Chris pulled the trigger. Wesker grunted with the effort of stopping himself from becoming confetti and soup. And the world went of in a burst of light and fire.

Jill leaped down from the top walkway like it was nothing, racing in her battlesuit.

She threw a triple spin kick at Wesker, swept low and took his feet, and back kicked him away. He went out, he hit the wall and slid down, and she moved like nothing Chris had ever seen. She was Wesker fast. The Hercules Complex had evened the playing field with pupil and master.

It was Darth Vader and the Emperor or something.

The rocket had worked like a charm. He was hurt. And Chris hadn't seen him hurt once since he'd stopped being the Captain of the S.T.A.R.S.

Chris vaulted over the over hang, racing for them.

Jill kicked Wesker twice in the gut and roundhoused him like she was kicking a heavy bag. He went to his side and got a block up on her neck hit. He double arm punched her in the side, jerked her leg and threw her away. His reaction time was too slow.

Too slow from the damn rocket.

Because as he grabbed her throat to end her, Chris shot him twice in the back...and hit him.

He shot Albert Wesker with a gun.

Apparently, it could still happen.

Wesker jerked in surprise, Chris caught him and pinned his arms, and he shouted, "NOW JILL! NOW!"

She crammed the plunger into Wesker. He jerked, grunting, and she went ahead and followed it up with a fantastic kick to the balls.

Wesker went down on his hands and knees and Chris kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling. Jill raised her machine pistol and Chris knocked her hands away, surprising her.

"Nope. NO. Not like that."

He jerked the knife from his vest and two fisted it.

And he drove it into the back of his former Captain.

Jill froze, watching them.

She'd never, in her life, seen rage like that.

Chris ripped the knife clean in a flyin arc of blood. It peppered him and was red. Turns out? Wesker still bled red.

His hand grabbed a fistful of blonde hair and jerked, exposing the line of his neck like a chicken waiting for the kill. Jill felt nothing. Nothing. She thought she'd feel...something. For the man who'd she'd once believed in, she'd once bedded, she'd once obeyed. The man who'd stolen her life from her, who'd eroded her soul and left a shell of his making behind, who'd tried to make her his and failed.

The man who'd killed her fucking dog.

Chris slashed his throat. He opened him open like a letter. Blood gushed. It was everywhere. It sprayed its arterial mess all over the steel floor. Wesker gagged, he staggered, and Jill rushed him.

She drove her own knife into his chest once, twice, three times. He was wide and eyed and...

AFRAID.

It resonated.

It felt like a triumph she'd never known.

Chris hip kicked him to his back.

He lifted his pistol on his face. "You know what sucks for you, Wesker? You call yourself a god. You don't look like a god to me. You look like what's left of a monster when I'm done with them. Haven't you heard? I'm the guy who kills monsters."

The gun echoed in the hanger, loud and sharp. One, two - and silence.

Jill was breathing sharp and fast. It hurt her lungs.

She was half crouched to find her breath around it.

And Albert Wesker didn't move again.

Chris lowered his gun and she watched the shaking and trembling on him. Like he had hypothermia or something. He just shivered where he stood.

It was anticlimactic. It was almost surreal.

It was DONE?!

It was done.

Jill whispered, "Is it done?"

The warm red blood seeped around their boots. The red gold eyes stared at the ceiling. There was no breathing, no moving, no shifting. Dead.

Dead.

Dead?

Chris dropped his pistol in the blood. His hand curled into a fist and he breathed, gruff and low, "...rot in hell, you stupid bastard."

He moved toward the jet on the tarmac, leaving bloody footprints in his wake like a trail of victory from the body of an enemy. Now they needed to get a call in to HQ to come contain the jet and the virus onboard. Lethal, it wasn't safe to leave it alone until evacuation for it arrived. They'd have to baby sit to assure it didn't "disappear" as things had a tendency to do in their world when you stopped watching them.

It took him a moment to realize Jill wasn't with him.

He turned back and she was right there in the darkness. She caught him, she threw him against the wall of the hanger and stole his breath. She grabbed his vest and shook him, knocking him against the metal with a clang.

"Maybe it was him who put us together, Chris. Maybe that was true. Maybe it was all true. But he forgot one thing."

He watched her face, enraptured by whatever swirled all over her. It was in him too. It was thick and hot and dangerous. What was it? The thrill of the kill? The rush of victory? The surge that came with finally, finally, finally winning?

Gruff, rough, low, "What?"

"I might have been cold before I met you. I might have been cold in his hands. I've never been cold in yours. Ever. You're my other piece Chris, the warmth to my cold. The thing I huddle around like a fire on a cold night. A hundred years in his hands wouldn't make it less. Everything I did here, I did for you."

"Jill..." He breathed it, shaking.

"I love you. I've done nothing but love you from the moment you sat down and started talking. Love me back." She kissed his chin. "Love me back." She kissed his nose, "Love me back, Chris. And I'll never be cold again."

Insane.

It was. It was insane to stand here with his heart pounding. There was a fucking dead body four feet away. There was a virus on a plane a hundred yards to his right. There was a conspiracy to clean up as vast and wide as the Grand Canyon.

And eight hours ago, he'd thought she was dead. He'd spent years chasing her ghost. He'd spent a life time loving her. It was insane to stand here staring at her with his heart in his ears.

With his blood in his groin, aching.

Insane. The blood, the beat, the pulse of it.

To want her like that.

In the blood of their dead Captain.

While it spilled around them like a river.

While it washed their boots in years of fighting and struggling and losing ground. In watching men die and rise again and the world fall apart. It was standing over the body of Jessica Sherawat and feeling the throb of the victory in him. The rush of killing without conscious, without cause, without remorse. It was what bad guys did, stand here coveting a girl in the middle of a battle, in the blood of their enemy, in the heat of the fight.

Bad guys.

The hero didn't stop his mission to crave his partner.

His hand shot out and twisted in her hair. It jerked her into him so hard it hurt her. He watched it on her face. The flash of pain, the flash of excitement, the rush of need - it ate them both alive while they tried to kill each other with the want of it.

He whipped her around and shoved her into the wall. She grunted. She grabbed his face and opened for him. Part of him pictured ripping open her battle suit and pounding her into the wall while she screamed and came all over him like a whore. While Wesker's body rotted on the ground behind them.

Jesus.

It was the rush of the win. It was the rush of the animal, the lion, that destroys the challenger in the battle of succesion and claims the lioness and the pack. He wanted to mate with her like a feral thing to cement his place in...what? The world?

No.

In her.

Like he could come in her and erase Wesker?

It sounded stupid when you said it like that. But it was there. The need to fuck her while she screamed his name and fill her up to burn away the bastard that had used her for so long.

The hero didn't fuck girls in the middle of a mission.

His mouth popped off hers. His hands grabbed for the zipper on her suit.

She watched his face. She saw whatever she wanted there because she gasped with delight. "...yes. Yes. Now?"

"Yeah. Now."

"Now. Yes. Now." She grabbed for his zipper.

He humped at her like a pervert and there was a sound behind him.

Her eyes shot over his shoulder.

And she shoved him.

The world went slow. It went too slow.

She shoved him so hard he went down on his butt in the blood.

And Wesker flew above him.

Like some kind of...nightmare.

All black and blood and rage. Jill took the full force of his tackle. She crashed through the wall with him atop her. The hanger shook around them as if Wesker had taken a battering ram to it.

No ram. Just him.

Chris shouted in rage.

Jill was unsconscious on the floor in the rubble of what came down. Wesker kicked her up into his arms like a kid with a soccer ball.

He grabbed her and took her with him. Tucked up under his arm like a sack or something.

He leaped up and over the wreckage of the wall, racing for the plane.

Chris pushed off after him. The loud toll of bells and rotating platform signaled the ascent to the surface.

He was going to take Jill with him and unleash Uroboros.

"...no." Not a shout. A whisper.

Chris ran like he'd been given wings. Like Hermes. Or the wind. Or the wrath of God. He ran.

The bulkhead was closing on the plane. Wesker stood there watching him. Jill was tossed uselessly on the floor by his feet.

Chris leaped and caught the edge of the hanger door and threw himself up into the plane.

Wesker laughed, loud and happy...and kicked Jill at him.

She flew like a football. Chris grabbed for her and the momentum of the rushing wind and the force of the kick sent her through his hands and flying out of the plane.

No.

"NO!" No whisper now. A shout.

Chris threw himself to his belly. He slid over the floor as the plane shot up into the sky. His hands grabbed for her.

She slid against the tips of his fingers and was gone.

Gone.

GONE.

Ghosts around him now, haunting him. AND LYING.

He got one of her wrists.

It caught. It jerked him sideways and sent him careening. Chris grabbed the wall of the jet and shouted at her, dangling out into space with her there whipping in the wind like a blonde flag of failure.

"JILL! WAKE UP! PLEASE! I NEED YOUR HELP!"

His voice broke, scaring him, "PLEASE JILL! I can't hold on! I need you to grab me! PLEASE!"

The please was a roar.

She came awake with it. She gasped and grabbed him.

He shouted, "DON'T LET GO, JILL! DO YOU HEAR ME!? HOLD ON!"

She grabbed for his other hand as he threw it down to her. Her eyes went over his shoulder and she shouted back, "Oh god! THROW ME UP, CHRIS! NOW!"

He jerked. She jerked with him.

She went up like a dart.

And tackled the man in black an inch from stomping Chris into a smear on the plane floor.

Wesker flipped her over, kicked her out and away, and hip tossed her into the wall. Chris rolled up and fired at him but he was still too fast. Too fast. He teleported, shifting like the Matrix, and slapped Chris twice in the face to kick him away.

Jill flipped into him, dropped low to sweep his feet, and drove her knife into his thigh.

Wesker grunted, backhanded her, and kicked her in the ass to her face.

Chris shot twice at him, he shimmered, and spun back, and sprang off Chris like a spring board as he leaped to the ceiling, stuck like a burr on steel somehow, and hissed at them.

Feral. Like an animal.

Chris shot him from the floor, hit him, heard Wesker gasp in pain and surprise.

And he fell to the floor for Jill to roundhouse kick him in midair.

It sent him rolling, she advanced with her knife, and Wesker kicked her from the floor, rolled up under her arm, and picked her up by her throat.

"Jill..you stupid bitch..."He eyed her curiously, "A genesis is at hand, and I will be its creator. In five minutes, the world will no longer be yours. It will be mine. Uroboros is all I need. I have enough on this jet to cover everyone, everything, every hill and valley and lake and sea. Ensuring complete, global saturation."

He smiled, studying her, "You could have been a queen, Jill, instead - you'll be just another corpse among the commoners."

Jill grunted, she kicked him in the hip to stagger him while he choked her. Her body rolled up, beautifully; she wrapped her thighs around his face and jerked, tossing her body back to throw him away.

He went out and slid over the floor.

Chris jerked him up to his knee. He pinned him against him from behind and spit it at him, low and hissing, "I've had enough of your bullshit."

The plunger filled with the compound went into his neck.

Wesker grunted and shook with it.

They overloaded him again with his own strength.

And the warning went off. "Maximum safe distance achieved preparing for dispersal."

"No!"

Jill ran for the lever on the wall to override it.

Wesker kicked Chris from the ground and sent him rolling.

And he flew at her.

She ducked, he went over her head, and she grabbed the lever.

The override threw alarms around them, wailing and loud. The hanger on the plane dropped, sucking everything inside outward with the enormous static pressure. Wesker was sucked away like a vacuum hose had gotten him.

But he grabbed Chris as he went and brought him along.

Jill shouted in horror. She pushed off the wall where she clung.

Their hands caught and held.

And they all held on as the world rushed hard, fast, and awful around them.

Chris shouted, "LET GO OF ME, JILL! LET GO!"

"SHUT UP! YOU STUPID MAN! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING!?"

Wesker roared it, dangling on Chris' foot, "I'm taking the two of you with me!"

Jill grabbed the pistol from Chris' holster, she jerked it clean and pointed it downward at him. And she answered, cool and cold, "I told you once. I warned you...I told you what would happen to you if you ever touched him again. Take your fucking hands off him."

She pulled the trigger and shot him clean in the face.

The wind rushed. Wesker was ripped off into the night, screaming.

Jill whispered, almost lost in the roar of the night, "I told you - all of it was for you."

Chris turned his hand over and blended their fingers.

The plane struck whatever was in its path. It screamed with a metallic burst of destruction. It tossed them into the maw of whatever waited beneath.

And it didn't matter anymore about love or revenge or victory.

Because the world was on fire and everything around them became nothing by pain and death.


	40. Chapter 40

XL: Mephistopheles

:::::::::::::FORTY::::::::::

Africa – March 14th, 2009 –– 1:43 a.m.

In Raccoon City, he'd awoken one night to find Jill atop him.

She'd slid against him and mounted him. She'd claimed him in the silvery spill of moonlight and stolen his soul.

Like Faustus, he'd made a deal with the devil to keep her. To love her. To want her.

His soul for Jill Valentine.

His soul for hers.

His father had told him the winds from the west would bring something.

They blew gently over his face now in the boiling heat.

Atop the rise, he was wounded.

He was nearly broken. His leg was, no doubt about that. He could feel it as he limped, each dragging step and twisted bone screaming in agony.

There was no greater irony than to have crashed a jet filled with enough poison to end the world into a volcano filled with molten lava. It's how all great battles ended, it seemed, in fire and death.

Wesker faced him. No longer Wesker. No longer anything remotely Wesker.

The boss who'd sat across from him that first day and asked him why he wanted to serve and protect. What makes you a hero, Chris?

And Chris, arrogant and young, full of himself and good humor - a memory of a boy in the angry, broken, bleeding and dying man that stood now in his place in the proverbial playground of this epic showdown - had quipped, "To save the world, sir. Why else?"

Over a decade later and it was true.

Those flippant remarks?

True.

All of it was true.

He'd come here to end the devil. To trade himself finally, and fulfill the bargain of the offer of his soul to seal the deal. Jill was alive.

Nothing else mattered.

The deal was fulfilled.

His soul, for hers.

His soul, for Wesker's.

He had no weapon. He had no hope. Wesker was rolling with Uroboros. A monster with a claw for an arm and a mutation for a body. He was laughing and sweeping his swirling tentacles at them. He was toying with them.

They'd tried. As they'd tried in that Estate all those years before. When Jill had sacrificed herself to take him down. They'd lost then.

They were losing now.

Jill was bleeding and listing to one side. She'd taken a piece of shrapnel in her side during the crash.

She was sweaty and bloody and beside him.

Beside him.

It was all that mattered.

Wesker laughed, eyeing them in the boiling heat. "Humans have avoided this winnowing for far too long, Chris...do you really think the world's worth saving?"

Chris staggered, his bad leg trying to toss him to his face in front of his greatest foe.

He might die here. But he wouldn't die kneeling before Albert Wesker.

"You get all your ideas from comic book villains, Wesker? Shut the fuck up and finish it."

Wesker swept his enormous claw at them. Jill rolled up it. Chris ducked and felt the air split as he rotated away. Jill rolled right into his attack zone.

She kicked him in the hip. Wesker reached for her and Chris tackled him.

The tentacles slapped into his face. They split his skin. He felt his own blood, smelled his own death, and kept on shoving.

Jill shouted. She screamed.

Wesker drove one of those swirling tentacles right into his chest. It hit the vest. It went right on through it like scissors through paper. It burst out Chris' back in a gush of blood.

And he was lifted, dangling, shaking, bleeding.

Wesker laughed, staring up at Chris with those horrible eyes. "You slit my throat, Redfield, you selfless fool. And yet here I am. When does it end for you? What will it take?"

He drove his huge arm into Chris while Jill screamed. She raced at them and Wesker swatted her back like a fly. She went up, she came down, she hit the ground on her face and was still.

The arm went into his belly. It burst out his back.

Impaled, it seemed, through chest and belly - dangling on the devil like an ugly Christmas ornament.

Chris felt dizzy. He felt light-headed. He was raw and shaking and bleeding everywhere now. Bathing his former Captain in the blood of his enemy.

The symbolism wasn't lost on him.

And Chris whispered, from numb lips, "...you made me, Dr. Frankenstein. You crafted me like a monster of your own literary creation. I'll never falter, never tire, and never quit. Until you're finished or in custody. Either way, I'm not gonna stop until I'm dead."

Wesker tilted his head, grinning in his ruined face. "...done."

The arm ripped out of his belly. Chris screamed like nothing he'd ever heard before. It hurt his own ears to hear it.

And cage of swirling tentacles around Wesker's chest opened. It opened. Just for a moment. Just for a split second.

Inside it, the flash of that pulsing thing.

That thing.

That thing he'd seen in the morning light in Spencer Mansion. That thing...on the tyrant.

Wesker...was a tyrant. And inside the necrotic cage of his own chest...was the beating, tender, very human core of his existence.

His heart.

A split second. A thousand years.

Chris shoved his hand inside his Captain. Like a puppet. Like a fool.

His gloved hand closed around that heart and gripped. Wesker shouted. He jerked the tentacle from Chris' chest in a burst of blood. Chris fell, but he kept holding on.

And they both screamed.

It echoed through the firey volcano.

Wesker collapsed to his knees. Chris echoed him. They faced each other in the widening pool of blood.

Holding that hammering heart in his hand, Chris whispered, "Maybe this where I die, you mother fucker, but this is where I take you with me. That's what happened to Dr. Frankenstein."

Was it?

Chris hated that book. He wasn't sure that's how it ended.

But it should have.

He crushed the heart in his hand and felt his own slow, slow, slow as the blood pooled around them. "...that's for my dog, you fucking bastard."

Chris went to side in his own blood. Wesker echoed him, watching his face in the sticky red wash.

Inches apart, eyes locked, and Chris jerked his arm with the last of his strength.

The crunch of it. The gasp.

The pain.

The tentacle stuck him again in the chest, impaling him.

And Wesker's heart was still beating now, still beating, in his hand where it lay on the ground between them.

Torn, it seemed, from his gaping chest.

He whispered, "...and that's for Jill. I let her die for me once. I let her die...fair trade."

Wesker gurgled, blood spilling from his mouth, "...Uroboros...will...go on...you fool..."

"Yeah? Fuck Uroboros. And fuck you too."

Chris twitched, he heard Jill screaming. He heard the whoosh of helicopter blades. He closed his fist around that heart so hard it hurt his hand. Wesker screamed like he'd shake the heavens with it.

Chris laughed, low and empty.

And watched Albert Wesker's eyes until the world went black around him.

A good way to end it all, he thought, the hero dies - the devil sent back to hell- and the girl alive to raise his son.

The girl - who had the other piece of his soul.

Wesker shifted like he'd take his heart back. He breathed, "I am...a god..."

"You are nothing. You never were."

And Jill crushed it beneath her boot while he flopped and jerked.

She kicked his body so hard it was lifted up and thrown out...and tumbled into the lava at the edge of the pit.

She dropped to her knees, her hands shaking, her face soaked. Sweat?

No. TEARS.

"Chris! CHRIS...no no no no no..." She put her hands over his wounds, she grabbed him up in her arms and rose. She lifted him on her wounded shoulders. The ladder came down.

She screamed, "OH GOD HURRY! PLEASE!"

And she carried the hero toward the only chance he had.

.........

In and out, in and out, in and out.

The world was nothing but darkness and silence.

And pain.

She stood in the silence of it, watching the ventilator beeping. It was signaling that he was still alive. It said his body was still with her.

Was he?

Was his body all that was left of him?

A hand on her arm. A slide and a gripping hand.

Rebecca spoke, so quietly, from beside her, "...he never gave up on you."

Jill nodded, and they stood together looking through the glass at the man they both loved.

Rebecca added, nearly a whisper, "I tried to steal him."

Jill squeezed her hand, shaking a little.

Rebecca wiped a hand over her face, "I tried to steal him in Raccoon City."

They turned eyes to each other.

Jill touched her face. Rebecca was so pale. The circles under her eyes were deep and dark.

Jill finally spoke, gently, "He's worth it."

And they slid together to hug.

And they slid together to weep.

After a long moment, Jill whispered, "Can you make him happy?"

Rebecca shook her head, clinging. "I can't. I never could. It's you, Jill. It was always you."

Jill's voice broke and they just kept on holding on to each other, "...what if he doesn't wake up?"

Rebecca laughed, brokenly, "He never gives up, Jill. He never gives up. He'll come back for you. It's all he knows how to do."

The machines keeping Chris Redfield alive beeped their answer into the silence left behind.

...............

Redfield, North Dakota - June 20th- 2009

Jill stood on the porch.

She watched the sun setting smooth and gold over the horizon.

The door behind her opened.

She turned, watching him in the dying day.

Scarred. He was washed in them. His chest and stomach, his arm and shoulder. Scarred and bearded. The healing had been so hard on him. He was holed up in this cabin with his son and cut off from the world.

He was still huge. Still muscled like she'd never seen him.

Shirtless, it took her breath away. The baby fine hair of their youth was thicker now across his chest and down his stomach. But he was still too muscular for too much of it. The beard on his face was interesting, sexy, and fitting.

She whispered, watching the emptiness of his eyes, "You're ok?"

He shifted. He lifted a brow. "Looks that way. What do you want Jill?"

After they'd come back. He'd been so hurt. Days and days and days in the ICU. She hadn't known if he'd live. She'd paced and cried and died and hated herself. Was it her fault?

All of it?

Had she killed him trying to save him?

He'd awoken after eighteen days in a coma.

He'd said nothing, to anyone, and gotten himself transferred to North Dakota for physical therapy.

He saw no one.

He said nothing.

He cut himself off from the world.

Why?

What was he feeling? What was he hiding?

She whispered again, shaking, "I went to my grave. Leon..he said...he said that..."

She stopped. Her breath hitched. She twisted her lips and stepped to the railing to grab it. He was so cold to her. Staring at her emotionless. Like she was a stranger.

Or nothing.

Or the girl who'd gone to bed with the devil.

She didn't see his face behind her back. She didn't see it. Or she'd have seen the pain on him. The hurt. The want.

He watched her suffer.

...and died.

She tried again, shaking, "He said you buried Dog there. So he wouldn't be alone. So he'd be...with me..." Her voice broke. She slapped her hand to her mouth and hunched. "...I'm sorry...just...a minute here...sorry..."

Jesus.

She rallied, whispering, "I keep expecting to find him waiting when I get home. I have all his toys. Claire brought them in a box. She said you told her to."

She swiped her wet cheeks, shaking her head, "Thank you for that."

He said nothing.

"I just wanted to be sure you were ok. So..."

He grabbed her arm as she drifted past. He tugged on her. "Come inside Jill. Come on."

He turned and she breathed, breathed, and followed him.

The kitchen was pristine. The living room cozy as always.

It didn't matter. Because on the floor with a tower of blocks was Chris. Chris with pretty violet eyes. Chris with little glasses.

She put her hand to her mouth. She shook her head. Without thinking, her hand shot out to grab his huge bicep and squeeze. "Oh, my GOD. Is there anything more beautiful?"

He couldn't stop the smile. He watched her face. He watched it all on her face. The awe. The thrill. The happiness.

Jill moved away. She crouched.

Kit stopped making a tower and looked at her. She looked back.

And she said, "Hello. What's your name?"

He grinned around little teeth, "Kit. You peeety."

She grinned back, touching his face. God. GOD. He was Chris. It was insane. It was unreal.

She laughed, "Thank you. You're very handsome. You look just like your daddy."

He giggled and kissed her. It stole her breath. It stole her heart. She clutched him and rose, holding him in a hug that only children can have. Full, tender, so tight it made you breathless with joy.

She rocked, holding on. And she whispered, "I'm Jill."

He stopped. He leaned back. Tiny Chris with purple eyes.

He blinked.

She blinked.

And he whispered, in awe, "You my MOMMY."

Her heart died. It stopped. She nearly dropped him. Her eyes shot to the man in the kitchen. Again, nothing. He said nothing.

She tried again, hoarse, "Who told you that?"

Kit kissed her, so happy. SO happy. "Care."

Jill felt the tremor in her arms. She smiled, wetly, "Claire?"

"Yesh." He studied her face with so much intelligence it almost killed her, "Mommy, gasses?"

He gestured to his face. She let him put the glasses on her. Chris' glasses. When had he started to need them?

When had the world become something she didn't know anymore?

Where was her place in it now?

Here? With this boy? As his mother?

She sat down on the floor to play with him. He talked. He just talked. He talked about hats and balls. He told her about "piders" and webs that they made. He showed her how to build a tower and knock it down like a dinosaur. He roared.

He ROARED.

And was the cutest thing she'd ever set eyes on.

He showed her his favorite picture in the house. A portrait on the wall of Claire and Chris and Leon..and her. Her. Chris and her in their S.T.A.R.S. uniforms, Claire in that little Made in Heaven vest she loved so much. He pointed to Leon in the black leather jacket he wore.

Jill waited for it.

And Kit said, "Weon...HIYA!" And did a kick at the tower of blocks. He knocked it over. He spun around like a tornado and punched the air. "Weon...WHOA!"

She had to agree.

Chris scoffed from the kitchen, setting plates on the table. "He's not that tough."

Kit giggled and he whispered like it was a great secret, "Daddy and Weon...HIYA!" He kicked the air and punched. He fell over and laughed.

Jill felt her mouth tremble as she laughed. She just laughed. And it felt wonderful to do it.

She glanced at the little table in the corner. A photo in a silver frame was sitting there. It was Claire again, in a little white dress, and Leon, in a beautiful suit. They were holding Kit and laughing in the photo.

Jill whispered, putting a hand to her mouth, "Chris...when?"

He glanced at the photo and laughed. "A few months ago. The great idiot married her."

Jill laughed, wetly, "She's happy?"

"Thrilled with it." He paused, watching her face, "She's pregnant. So apparently he didn't wait until he married her to get into her panties. The slimy bastard."

She nodded and he watched the pain race over her features. She pressed a hand to her belly and breathed. She swiped the tears off her face and played with Kit's toes where he sat on her lap. "That's wonderful. I'm so happy for them."

Kit glanced up her. He touched her mouth and brought her attention to his glasses and his smile. "'Mommy, sad?"

She shook her head, kissing his forehead, "No. No. Happy." She hugged him so tight he squealed and wiggled, "...happy."

She stayed for dinner. She put Kit down in his room and he picked up the bear in his crib to show her. "Mommy?"

God. Would it never fail to make her world stop to hear it?

He pressed the bear's belly. And her voice came out, startling her. The bear she'd given Chris for his birthday. The stupid little bear meant to be a gag gift. It slept with his son. His son slept with her voice.

Kit laughed, "Kit ears hear Mommy. All DAY!" He shouted it, he shook the bear, "PMS - I WUV YOU!"

Oh god.

The bear, in her voice: P.S. I love you.

She grabbed him to hold him. She lifted him free to rock where she stood. He giggled and shouted it, "PMS - I WUV YOU!"

She bathed him. She put him to bed. She kissed him while he drifted off to sleep, and she whispered, "P.S...I love you."

Closing his door, she stepped out into the living room. Chris was outside, on the porch, smoking. She joined him, staring over the rolling land beside him.

The night was thick and long. His hair was a shaggy mane. His beard soft and full.

His life..soft and full.

Where was her place?

Was it beside him? Behind him? With him?

Without him?

The world fractured a little at the idea. Maybe her place was beside him but not with him. Was Rebecca's place with him?

Best friends forever. Maybe that's how their story ended.

She spoke, into the chirp of cricket's in the warm summer breeze, "I can tell him that I'm not his mother, Chris. I'm sorry Claire did that."

He turned his head, watching her in the shadows, "Are you?"

She waited. She breathed. And she shook her head, "No. No, I'm not. I want him. I want to be his mother."

There.

It was out there. It was said. It was clear between them. That part was clear. "I meant what I said. I meant it. I want your son." She paused. She screwed her courage to the sticking place and said, "I want you."

They held eyes. They both stood so quietly.

Who were they now?

Not the girl in the beret. Not the boy with the rifle on his shoulder and the Softail racing up the highway. Who were they now?

Half of who they'd been apart. Pieces of who they were together.

She said it, holding her ground, "I want you."

He said nothing.

She leaned forward. He waited, watching her. And she kissed his shoulder. She kissed his bicep. She might have stopped but he dropped his arm from where it leaned on the railing and she slid around the front of him.

He let her.

She kissed the mounded up scars on his chest where Wesker had impaled him. She said it again, low and soft, with so much feeling it slayed as it shivered between them, "I want you. I know you can hear me. I know you still feel me, Chris. I want you. Say it back. Say it back to me."

She kissed his collarbone. Her fingers slid over his stomach and the scars there from the bullets, from the burns, from the battles. From Wesker and Raccoon City and Russia. From the things he'd done to find her and the wars, he fought to save them all. A patchwork quilt of all the years she'd loved him, beautifully stitched across the palate of his flesh.

She kissed his neck, she kissed his chin, she touched his nipples and felt his skin pebble with goosebumps.

And she said it again, again, AGAIN. "I want you. I want you. I want you. Want me back. Want me back, Chris...please."

He flicked the cigarette off into the darkness. He lowered his face to her. She kissed his mouth, drawing his bottom lip between her teeth to suckle. He let her. He let her do whatever she wanted.

He watched her like a hawk.

Jill breathed, stroking her hands over his naked back to feel him, curling her hands down, down, and into the back of his jeans.

There was nothing in there but him. It was his way. It was the only way he'd ever been. Armed to the teeth in battle, stripped to the skin in life. Simple. No trappings. No armor.

No bullshit.

She stroked his ass with her hands and nuzzled open his mouth. He let her do that too, eyes so blue in the dark they were nearly colorless.

She whispered, "...I want you. It doesn't have to be more complicated than that. Want me back, Chris."

She slid her tongue into his mouth. He made a sound, finally, something. Some kind of noise. It stole her breath.

And so did he.

His hands caught her throat. He jerked her up to his mouth to fuck her mouth like he'd kill her with it.

Jill made a small sound of need. His arm looped around her waist. He jerked her into his front and lifted her, effortlessly. She kept on kissing him like she'd eat him. And he walked her into the house.

Freight train, she thought, good lord.

He carried her to the couch and threw her against it. It stole her breath with the force of it.

Chris fisted a hand in her hair and bit at her mouth, driving his tongue into her so fast and hard she had to hang on and open for him. He turned her around, he shoved her against the arm of the couch on her belly. She felt lightheaded. She felt dizzy.

His hands reached up under her dress and caught her panties. He didn't take them off. He just ripped them off with a snap of elastic. He shoved a hand on her back to hold her down.

Jill made a small sound of desperate want.

He threw her skirt up her over her hips and put his mouth to her from behind.

She was already wet for him and he destroyed her, licking, sucking, devouring the engorged swell of her like he'd find the truth of her inside her throbbing heat. She bucked, screaming into the hand she shoved over her mouth to hold it in.

That, that hadn't changed. He went down on you like he'd kill you with it. She came against his face like a whore, slapping back on him, shaking and dying.

She heard his zipper release. His other hand jerked her hips up and she grabbed the couch, looked over her shoulder at him, and waited for it.

Not easy.

Hard.

One thrust, merciless. Her body fought it and claimed it at the same time.

She buried her face in the couch to take the force of her scream.

And he gave it to her. Ruthless. Endless. He pounded the walls of her body in a wet, wild, rhythmless ride. Jill slapped back on him, crying with it, dying from it - face in the cushions to muffle her cries. She'd forgotten, forgotten, the feel of him. The sheer size and force of him obliterated her.

When the angle wasn't enough, he hitched her higher for each brutal thrust.

She kept mewling. She kept keening. She kept shoving back on him for more of it. The pain, the pleasure, the perfect blend of it had her coming apart around him so fast it was lightning, burning them both.

He jerked her up with a hand around her throat, he turned her face to kiss her -wet, tongues and lips, sloppy and thick. His hand slid into her dress, into her bra, and palmed a breast in his nearly crushing grip.

He kicked his jeans aside when they fell and the couch squeaked, shaking where it absorbed the full force of their fucking.

She gasped, grunted, and killed him where he hammered her like a thing possessed, "...harder. Hurry. HARDER."

Cheese and rice.

Chris jerked her up by her hips. She spun in his arms like a tornado of sex and greed. She hooked an ankle behind his and spilled him to the floor on his back. She mounted him like a rodeo bull, riding on his shit in a storm of passion like nothing he'd ever seen.

He sat up. He tore her dress at the shoulders and jerked her bra apart in a snap of cloth. His mouth was all over breasts, sucking, licking. He bit one so hard it left teeth marks.

She slapped his face, laughed darkly with delight, and stole his soul. She rode him wet. She rode him murderously fast.

He grabbed her face to kiss her while she fucked up and down on his lap and found her pleasure. She tightened. He gave it to her so hard he wondered it didn't hit her in the chest and puncture her heart, and he cursed as he came, rutting like a beast inside her to the finish.

She collapsed atop him. He flopped back on the floor and gasped, trying to relearn how to breathe.

They fell asleep like that, mated, merged...and silent.

It was interesting to be in that cabin with him.

A handful of days passed.

They existed on limited conversation. They cared for Kit and played and laughed and loved him.

Chris said so little to her that she wondered why he wanted her there.

Kit went down for a nap.

Chris went down on her.

He was insatiable. He sought her out. He cornered her. He fucked her standing in the kitchen. He fucked her on the porch in the middle of the day like some kind of desperate thing.

He put his hands on her when she was reading or watching t.v. or taking a bath. He said nothing. Not really.

But he said everything with his body.

Kit was the greatest joy she'd ever known. He was so smart. He was insatiable himself, for life, for laughter. He taught her how to make fart music with his hand and his mouth. He was the cutest thing in the world.

He fell asleep on his belly on the floor watching cartoons.

The second he was out, she rose. She went into the bedroom.

She waited.

Chris threw her on the bed. He jerked off her shorts. She slapped his face, twice, as he came atop her and he grunted. He spread her legs, shoved them back like a whore, and fucked her while he swallowed her screams in his mouth.

Hard. Fast. She raked her nails up his back and he gave it to her like he'd break the bed beneath them.

Freight train.

But the train was powered by anger.

He was so angry at her.

Why?

She took his anger and his passion and his need for her. Under it, somewhere, was the man who'd come across the world to save her. She just had to wait to feel him again.

Three weeks into their strange arrangement, she came out of the shower to find him putting Kit down for bed.

She waited.

She stood by the sink and waited.

He left the door open. He grabbed her around the waist, still wet, still damp from the shower. She let him carry her from the bathroom.

He started to throw her on the bed. She clung.

Jill turned his face to her. She kissed him - soft.

He paused, watching her in the low light from the hallway.

And she said, "Stop this. Stop it. Whatever it is, whatever you're feeling - say it. Do you want me here? Do you want me to go?"

He volleyed his eyes over her face. He kissed her, eyes open, and soft. "No. I don't want you to go."

Ok.

OK. So that was something.

That was a start.

So, Jill intoned, with feeling, "Stop fucking me and love me."

Again, his no bullshit way of living simply enthralled her. It did. She couldn't argue, couldn't deny, couldn't do anything in the face of it. Because he answered, "I love you. Always have."

They spilled onto the bed. She shifted, his shorts were discarded, and she opened her legs for him. Softer now. Smoother. They blended, mended, and moved together.

She crested, wetly but warmly, and he was gentle. He was so gentle.

He was always such a contradiction. Here, in the bedroom, he wanted to please her. To take her and love her. To touch her. Why was he struggling so hard beyond it?

What did he want?

His head between her thighs, tasting her, teasing her, taking her up. He was so brilliant at it, he'd always been, he'd always read her body like a book. She watched him tongue her body and tremble between her thighs.

Gentle.

Her fingers twisted in his hair. She pulled it up to look at him as she came down, quivering. "Tell me, please, what is it? Chris...what is it?"

His hands slid up to palm her breasts. He angled himself up her body and slid into her. She was wet from him and ready. It was smooth and easy.

He shared the flavor of her between them and she looped her arms around him to hold.

He said nothing.

They lay in the long dark after holding each other.

He was lost. She was trying to find him. Was this what it was like for him? To be so lost without her?

They had to get back to a place where they could be them. They had to do that with the truth.

So, she spoke into the dark, "Are you angry with me?"

He stroked her back, playing his hand over her butt, touching her. "I don't know." Honesty, at last, "I don't want to be angry at you, Jill. I believe you. I believe you stayed to save me. But you let him touch you. You let him inside you."

She nodded, stroking his chest.

And he added, "I don't understand that."

Jill touched his hip, stroking the satiny skin, "At first, it was to control him. The only way I knew how. It was pleasurable, Chris. It was. He was still a man, under all his bullshit, he was still a man. He wasn't wrong about the duality of me. The line of good and bad. I've always run along it, teetering back and forth. I might have gone with him...maybe..."

Chris said nothing.

She lifted her head to look at him in the dark. "But for you."

They held eyes.

"Chris...it was you. It's always been you. Always. I would do anything, be anything, to protect you. I love you. I need you. Forgive me, and let me in. Please."

He shook his head. He cupped her face to kiss her. It was warm, it was tender. She made a small sound.

And he said, "Nothing to forgive here, Jill. There isn't. You died for me. You died. I don't understand it. Maybe I never will. But I don't need to forgive you for it. I did things..." he shifted, he shook his head again, "...to find you. Things...it doesn't matter."

He touched her belly and stole her breath, "It doesn't matter anymore. You're here. I have you. Let's make something together here. Something that's ours. For Kit. For us."

She breathed.

Her heart hurt.

She knew what he'd been doing now. All this time. Fucking her. Coming in her. Taking her.

He was trying to get her pregnant.

He was trying to erase Wesker with something theirs. Something real. Something soft and good and beautiful.

His hand curved over her belly, stroking. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her navel. "I love you, Jill. Let you in? You're in. You're in my fucking bones. Let me in you. Let me inside you."

Jesus.

She whispered, voice breaking, "You want to make a baby?"

He laughed, eyes misty, and she loved him so painfully. So painfully. How did she tell him? How? Were there words enough in the world for it?

"I saw babies on you when I met you, Jill. I saw you fat and pregnant and happy. It's kinda scary, yeah. But Kit...he's...the world changed when he came into my life. It wasn't just me anymore. It wasn't just you. Let's do that, Jill. Let's do that together." He kissed her belly again and stole her breath, "Let's fill you up with life. Our life. Maybe...maybe you retire...you're dead to the world anyway...maybe you retire and have my babies and be my wife...and you and I make a world here together that isn't the fight anymore...it's just us."

Jill shook her head. She took his face and held it. She shook her head and made a small sound like a sob. "I can't."

Christ.

It felt like getting kicked in the balls. Chris caught his breath with it. "What?"

"No..it's..." She shook her head and the tears spilled wet and hot down her cheeks, "I can't marry you. I can't give you babies."

He denied it. He rose over her and she opened her legs to hold him. "Jill...Jill...listen. It's time. It's time for us now. Finally. It's time. I'll love you until you can't stand it. I swear to god, I will. Let me. Please."

She shook her head again, denying him. It hurt so bad. It was insane to feel it. It was a wonder he didn't explode atop her into blood and bits of flesh and pain.

"No?"

She shook her head, "I can't. I'm sorry. I can't, Chris."

He tugged his face away from, shaking now, "You mean you won't. You won't."

She grabbed him, stopping him from rolling off her. She shifted. She moved enough that it brought his mouth open on a gasp as she took him into her. He slid right in and they both gasped with it.

Quaking, she held his face. His arms trembled around her head where he leveraged himself. And he moved in her, rocking, stroking.

Jill made a small cry and looped her legs over his flanks.

She'd come around, he thought as he picked up the rhythm, plunging into her faster and deeper. She'd come around. She was hurt. She was scared. They both were. She'd come around when she was pregnant and soft and full.

She'd come around.

It was quickly done. Eyes held, merging, gasping and fucking.

God.

He loved her like she was made for him. She was. She'd see that. She would.

He collapsed atop her, trembling.

And Jill whispered, still clenching around his body buried in hers, "...I can't have children."

He went still. She shivered in his arms.

And he finally lifted to see her face.

On a small sob, she said it again, "I went through the window. I died. I hemorrhaged in stasis where he kept me. I can't have children. I can't have your children. I can't be your wife and give you a family. I can't. Not won't. Can't. I can't. I'm so sorry. I can't."

He said nothing, watching her face as she covered it with her hands and wept, like a storm. So full, all in, her body shaking where he was balls deep in her. She gasped with it, she rocked with it, she shook her head and denied it. "You should choose Rebecca. You should. I can't give you what you want."

He pulled her hands away and kissed her.

She looped him so tight it stole his breath.

They kissed like they'd never kissed before. Desperate now. Maddened.

She'd gone out a window to save him. She'd enslaved herself to a monster to protect him. She'd lost any hope of having children because of it.

She should hate him.

She should curse his name and despise him.

She just wanted to love him and his kid.

He'd never deserve her.

Chris let go of her mouth. She was hitching with sobs now, shaking with it, clinging to him. "I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Shut up," He took her hands and jerked them off her face. He held her down. "Look at me, Jill."

She shook her head, turning her wet face away.

"I said look at me, Jill. Now."

"...I can't."

"You can." He rolled and pulled her into his lap around him. They clung, holding each other naked and sweaty and hard, "Look at me."

She opened her eyes. He grabbed her face and held it. "I don't care."

She shook her head. "Chris..."

"I don't care, Jill. I don't care. You hear me? I don't care. Kit is yours. He's yours if you want him. I'm yours if you want me. Babies, no babies, no arms, no legs, no hope. All of it. Any of it. I'm yours, Jill. You're mine. I don't deserve you. I never have. But I'll love you, I'll love you until you're dead and gone and dust. I'll love you. And maybe I'll be enough for you. Maybe someday I can make it up to you. I'm so sorry. I am. It's all my fault."

Jill buried her face in his neck, she held on. "You idiot. You dumbass. You stupid fool. It is your fault. You made me love you. You sat down and made a stupid joke and punched that idiot in the face and whoopie cushioned me and made me love you. You were always enough. Always."

She kissed him, madly, gasping. And they were breathless when it was done.

She whispered, hoarsely, "There is no me, without you, Chris Redfield. There is no Jill Valentine without Chris Redfield."

He took her face. She took his.

And they held eyes in the swirling night.

He shook his head. He laughed and she caught the tear that spilled down his face on her thumb and swept it away. "Goddamnit, Jill, don't ever leave me again. Swear it."

"Never. Ever. I'll stay dead. I'll stay gone. No more fighting. No more missions. Just me, here, with that kid I love. That kid of yours. Let's get a puppy, to honor Dog. For Kit. For us. Let me have him, and you."

"You kidding? You had me the second you knelt down to pick up those papers, kid. You had me. I died without you, Jill. I died." They kissed, clinging and laughing, and holding, "I'll never let you go again. Ever."

She put her forehead to his. They breathed, holding on.

And she whispered, "You're the other part of me, Chris Redfield. The only piece unbroken. I'm keeping you..." She put her mouth to his and pressed, tender and raw and real, "...P.S...I've always loved you."  
...........................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Post Note:

Yep. That's what that is. That's the end of my uneven, big-hearted, rambling and lost little tale. Is it in the nature of RE to end it happy? Hell no. But I don't give a shit. I like it. The world is full of ugly. For now? This is their happy ending.

It was a hard road. And thank you, everyone, who traveled it with me. All of you. I couldn't do it alone.


End file.
